


In the Sign of Castores

by Robin_Fai



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Child Death, Dark, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character Death(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, but yay! I wrote something, i don't really know how to tag, rather than just imagining it in ridiculous detail...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-01 04:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21386827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Fai/pseuds/Robin_Fai
Summary: A chance meeting on an ordinary case causes Morse's carefully constructed world to come crumbling down.
Comments: 135
Kudos: 90





	1. Dramatis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! 
> 
> Lets start with the obvious - this is my first fanfic that I've ever actually published. I do write a lot but mostly they never make it out of my head and onto a page. This is one of three ideas that are currently begging to be told. I decided to make the leap into publishing this as there are some really wonderful contributors in this fandom telling some excellent original stories which have inspired me. So I thought perhaps if I shared a few of my own they might be appreciated in some small measure.
> 
> EDIT 12/11 - I must admit I didn’t realise how dark this would be when I imagined it. I have added a tag for the death of a child because I really, really, don’t want to cause anyone any unnecessary pain. It was necessary for this AU but I should have realised to tag it before. Sorry! I promise there is only one and things will get better. Sometime. Later. All the angst for a while though.

Morse should have known that the day was not going to go well. His morning had slipped away from him, like so many others, and he had ended up leaving without so much as a cup of tea, let alone breakfast. Not that he often had breakfast. Most mornings he was either too tired, or too restless, to contemplate such an effort. But he did normally manage tea at least. Today, however, there had been no milk. Living alone meant he had no one to blame for that but himself, and he was growing tired of blaming himself for his perpetually miserable state of existence. A psychologist would no doubt have a lot to say about how readily he blamed himself for the most trivial, and critical, of things.

He shunned psychology as a general rule. His feelings on that matter were well known. What was less well known was that his issue lay more with psychologists than psychology itself. Mason Gull had not definitely not helped with those feelings. He could not deny though that much of his studies of ciphers, classics, and police work had left him in no doubt that people could be programmed in much the same way as a machine. Input violent childhood, output violent adult etc. 

His own childhood, and consequently his adult life, was much harder to qualify. His mother had loved him certainly, but she had been so distant. Always having to work after his parents had divorced. Her time at home spent doing the never ending list of chores, and her Sundays devoted to quiet worship. He had snatched at whatever time he could get with her, even going to services despite his lack of faith. Then she had slipped away from him as the illness had eaten her from the inside out. As he had cared for her during her last days he had thought to finally get closer, but in the end there had always been _that_ issue hanging, unspoken, between them. 

Then there was his father, who had never lifted a hand to him, in anger or in love. He had received everything necessary from them both but there had always been something lacking. His father had never truly seemed to love him. Some days he would have been hard pressed to say if he even cared about him. Disappointment was the solitary emotion he felt sure he could attribute to how his father felt about him. The rest remained a mystery. He wondered sometimes if there was not some underlying guilt that had made him the way he was, but if that was the case he never showed any sign of it.

Then there was Gwen of course… She had hated him, certainly, but he was never sure why. His sudden presence in her household had not been wanted, but she would have struggled to claim he had disrupted anything very much. His father had spared him very little time, he looked after himself, and most of the time he was away at school on his scholarship. Sometimes he wondered if she _knew_, but that would have meant his father admitting what had been done, and he found that very hard to believe.

He wasn’t supposed to know about it. It had been an accident one day when he was around 6 years old. He had been looking for a form about a trip that the school had sent for his mother to sign. That morning, before she left for work, he had asked her about it and she had said she had misplaced it. After she was gone and he had finished his toast he had decided to look through the drawer he often saw her store forms in. It hadn’t even occurred to him that there was anything in there that he shouldn’t see. But then he had seen it – _that_ photograph – and his world had changed forever.

Morse shrugged off his contemplation with a shudder. Dwelling on the past would do him no good and he was already late to pick up Thursday. He grabbed the car keys, made his way hastily through the station, and out into the dim, sleet filled, morning. Gathering his coat tightly around his frame as he dashed across the yard to the car, he reflected that some would take this as a sign that things could only get better. His own fatalistic beliefs noted the thicker clouds on the horizon and the hurried way in which the duty sergeant had headed towards CID after he had hung up the phone. 

No...  
No good could come of today he decided. One way or another he was destined for a storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, did you want to hear more?  
This first chapter is more of a prologue than anything else. It should get going in the next.  
Also - I've not yet totally got the hang of the site so bear with me as I get up to speed!


	2. Into the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, here we go!  
Morse and Thursday have a case and it’s not an easy one. Morse also has something on his mind, but what could it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments so far folks. You all officially made my day.

The drive over to the Thursday’s house was relatively uneventful. The weather made driving a more intensive task than usual, but no one had caused any accidents – yet. One old lady had done her best to walk into the car as she focussed more on avoiding the puddles than the oncoming traffic. Luckily Morse had seen her with plenty of time to brake and she had carried on meandering across the road, blissfully unaware of her near miss. His usual instinct would have been to drive the route a bit faster to make up the time he had lost earlier in the morning, but he decided that being on time was a lost cause now and arriving in one piece was more important.

Finally, he pulled up outside the Thursday’s house, 20 minutes late, to find the Inspector already waiting in the porch. As soon as the car was stationary, he made the short dash from the shelter by the front door and into the car beside Morse.

“Thought you’d forgotten me.” He half joked to Morse.

“Sorry,” he gestured to the weather with a half shrug, “this sort of stuff gets all the fools out and about.”

“Well, we need to get a shift on. We’ve got a shout out Botley way. Duty called it in a few minutes ago. A baby gone missing from the maternity home. All hands on deck for this one.” 

Morse felt as though some of the sleet had seeped into his bloodstream. Cases involving children were always hard, but a baby? That was the very worst. “Missing?”

“Last seen in the nursery about 3 hours ago. Apparently they didn’t call it in right away because they thought maybe someone had gotten confused and she was with another family or some other such nonsense. I mean really… don’t they know how serious this could be?” Thursday’s expression said everything he needed to know about how serious things were.

Morse didn’t reply to that and simply set about getting the car going again. The clock was ticking and they had already lost at least a few hours. He could get whatever other details as they drove.

\------

The storm began rolling in even as they made their way along the already slick roads. The sleet became rain that pounded down upon the car as though it was trying to rouse the dead. Traffic gathered in slow concertinas at each junction, the drivers leaning forward to stare helplessly into the thick curtains of water that were falling and blocking the view of what may or may not be oncoming. Morse tried to keep his mind on the driving. He knew the case would need all his attention shortly but for now, with so little to go on, it seemed better not to dwell on what could have happened.

At last they reached the maternity home, pulling in to the small car park out the back. The building loomed over them, the Victorian gothic styling looking particularly inhospitable and imposing in the stormy weather. There were 2 other squad cars already in the car park and a uniformed officer stood outside the entrance. Morse and Thursday made their way in after a brief pause to debrief the officer on the door. He didn’t have much more to share than they already knew. 

Last confirmed sighting was several hours previous when a nurse on duty had done the rounds. The doors should have been locked overnight but one of the morning shift had reported finding them open when she went to use her key. No one had seen anything suspicious and none of the mothers in residence had been woken by anything other than staff that they recognised. A search had been mounted by staff through the building and grounds to no avail. One of the teams of uniform was repeating the search now whilst he stood duty watching the door and his colleague remained with the family.

They made quick progress through the tiled hallways. The lights alternated from far too dim to be effective in one area, to almost blindingly bright in others. Peeling paint plus tired and dated furniture gave the place a feeling of neglect. The mud trailed across the floors told of the frantic searching that had already taken place but the lack of noise made the place feel ghostly. 

There weren’t many staff and those that they came across were wary until they showed their warrant cards. The first doctor they came across introduced himself as the local GP assigned to the maternity home. He hadn’t been in the building that night and had only come in when one of the nurses had called him. It seemed that there hadn’t actually been any doctors in the building overnight, just one staff nurse, a midwife, a matron, and the janitor. There were now 3 more nurses also in the building as the morning shift had come in to find the doors unlocked and, upon completing a handover round with the night shift, the one, lonely, empty cot in the nursery.

\------

The maternity wards provided the noise that had been so conspicuous by its absence in the rest of the building. There were eight new mothers in the first ward they passed. All of them were currently centred on one rather beleaguered looking nurse who was trying to regain control. Several had packed their bags and were demanding they be allowed to collect their babies and leave.

“We tried to keep things quiet, but Mrs Brodie was particularly hysterical when she was told. Once her ward knew it was only a matter of time before word got out to the other,” the GP who had guided them to the wards advised with a strained expression. “I think perhaps I ought to lend some assistance to Nurse Watkins in detaining our patients here for the meantime if I am correct in my assessment that you’ll want to interview them all?”

“Yes, that would be appreciated.” Thursday replied. “I am sure the rest of our officers should be here shortly to get things moving.”

A matron strode along the corridor to meet them as the GP departed into the chaos of the ward. “You’re the Inspector?” she demanded and before Thursday could reply she scolded “You took your time!” before turning on her heel and heading back along the corridor. Morse and Thursday were left to trail along in her wake as she led them to the ward with the mother of the missing child, Mrs Brodie. 

The second ward had a whole other atmosphere to the first they had passed. Here there were 6 new mothers, most of whom looked stunned or had been crying. One was praying while another stared out the window over the grounds. To one side of the ward 2 nurses were gathered around a young, red-haired, woman who was staring disconsolately at the floor. 

“For heaven’s sake, stop crowding her,” the matron snapped, “the babe is sure to turn up shortly. No doubt some administrative error.” But there was a slight tremble to her voice that belied the confidence she spoke with. The two nurses stepped away after a brief pause where they seemed to consider disobeying the matron. Morse and Thursday stepped forward to take their places. Thursday took the only chair so he was at eye height with the stricken woman. The other nurse had been sat on the bed and that didn’t seem appropriate for him, so Morse was left standing, and trying to avoid looking like he was looming over the much smaller woman in any kind of threatening way.

Up until this point Morse had been able to set much of the reality of the situation aside. Now he couldn’t help but to face up to it. This woman had had her baby stolen from her in a place she felt safe. There surely could not be anything worse. It cut him in a way he had not expected. The pain on the poor woman’s face was indescribable. He could feel tension filling every part of his body. This too, felt like his fault, no matter how utterly blameless he was.

Thursday was talking quietly to the woman about what was happening. He didn’t offer false reassurances as everyone else no doubt had. She looked up to him, finally meeting his eyes. 

“You’ve got to find her… I… I don’t know where she is and its killing me.”

“We’re doing everything in our power Mrs. Brodie,” Thursday offered. “Now, do you think you could tell me, would anyone want to harm you, or the baby in any way?” Mrs Brodie shook her head wordlessly, her lips pressed firmly together. “No one that would want to take her for any reason?” She remained silent, her hands clasped so tightly together that her knuckles stood out white against already pale skin. “Your husband…?” Again, silence, and a shake of the head.

Thursday looked to Morse, raising his eyebrows in query. He was expecting some kind of input, some clever line of enquiry perhaps, or at least just a few words of encouragement. Words were failing him. He couldn’t offer this woman any kind of reassurance. No kind words, no comforting platitudes. But more importantly, at this crucial point in the investigation, no questions that could ever truly shed any light on to the situation.

“Morse?” Thursday asked quietly. Morse shook his head in reply.

The act of taking a child, a baby no less, seemed as though it could only ever come from a place of pure desperation. Talking to this distraught woman would get them nowhere, but doing what they were trained to, using their skills to bring her baby back, that was all they could offer, and even that they could not promise. Even that might not be enough.

Thursday sighed quietly before turning back to Mrs Brodie. She met his gaze evenly.

“I didn’t even name her yet...”

\------

Once the rest of CID and the other uniformed officers arrived interviews were quickly conducted, but nothing new was learned. There was no clear way an intruder could have got in, and no one from inside that had left, nor any motive to be found anywhere. An extensive search of the area turned up nothing. Uniform were set to house to house enquiries in the surrounding streets while CID returned to the station to get an investigation up and running.

The drive back was nearly silent. Morse could feel Thursday watching him. He couldn’t explain the way he was currently feeling. Yes, a child abduction was a terrible thing, and it always took its toll on those involved with the investigation, but there was more to it than that. He felt itchy, tense, guilty… He knew it was irrational but he couldn’t stop it. He had known that it was going to be a bad day and as the rain continued to pour down upon the already sodden streets things looked like they could only get bleaker.

The afternoon dragged out long and tense. People snapped at one another. Strange paced the room. Thursday spent hours rushing from one department to another giving orders and managing the shape and scale of their searches. Jakes made his way through what seemed to Morse like several hundred cigarettes. Officers called in their reports from searches, hospitals, and door to door enquiries. The boards remained conspicuously empty and the phones rang endlessly with demands for updates from news agencies. A missing baby was big news.

Morse felt like his head would split open. Outside the air was filled with the threat of lightning. Every lead that held even the slightest promise sent one or other of the three out into the rain. By the time evening was drawing close Morse was tired, cold, and hadn’t got a single dry piece of clothing in his outfit. He also didn’t have any leads. He wanted to scream. It all felt so futile and bleak. There was no puzzle, no mystery, nothing cryptic to set his brain to solving, and so it just went round, and round, and round, with dark and hopeless fears. The only thought he had on what could have happened he found himself unable to voice. He stood several times with the aim of speaking but then a very old terror would paralyse him.

It was in one of these moments of indecision that CS Bright stopped by his desk.

“Sergeant.” Bright looked over the report Morse had been studying. 

“Sir.”

“How would you say things are progressing?” Bright kept his hands firmly behind his back. Morse knew it was a tactic to seem calmer, more in control. He hadn’t cared for Bright at first but now he had only respect for him.

“Nothing concrete so far, Sir, but we’re working on every angle.” It was all he could say, but it felt like a lie all the same.

“Bad business this, very bad business.” Bright took a deep breath and studied Morse’s wet shoes, “yes, well… Ah!” he affected a more cheerful tone, “yes, while I’m here, I’ve still yet to see your documentation, have a care and bring it in when this is all over, right?”

“Sir?” Morse queried, his stomach sinking.

“The memo, went round last month, new home office regulations and all that. Need to have copies of everyone’s birth certificates and so forth. I think yours is the only one I’ve not yet seen.”

“I think mine was lost, sir, my father… he wasn’t the best at filing.” The air in the room felt thicker than ever.

“Ah… right. Well, I can put in a request for a copy for you. What local authority?”

“No, you don’t need to go to that effort for me, Sir. I’ll look. Once the case is solved I’ll sort it.”

“Good… good. Thank you Morse. Good man. Carry on.” Bright moved on to speak quietly to Strange. All of a sudden the electricity in the air felt more than he could manage and Morse made a rapid exit towards the bathrooms. He ditched his tie in the sink and tried to get some air into his lungs. The panic was all encompassing. 

He knew exactly where Endeavour Morse’s birth certificate was. 

The trouble was, if anyone checked, they would find a matching death certificate from just a few short days after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, more mystery. I do love to keep you all guessing!
> 
> I don’t know much accurate information about 1960’s NHS staffing policies or maternity homes so a good portion of this is based on what I could scrounge up from the internet and hours of watching Call the Midwife. Not the most reliable of sources I’m sure. I’m sorry if you do know and I’m totally wrong!
> 
> In other news, I now have the shape of this piece plotted out and I think we’re looking at 10 chapters. Possibly not all that long in terms of word count for each one so I’ll try not to keep you waiting too long!
> 
> Something a bit different to look forward to in the next chapter, probably in a couple of days ; )


	3. Clouds Over the Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Cyril Morse POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve added this note to the start of this fic but adding on here too for ongoing readers: _I must admit I didn’t realise how dark this would be when I imagined it. I have added a tag for the death of a child because I really, really, don’t want to cause anyone any unnecessary pain. It was necessary for this AU but I should have realised to tag it before. Sorry! I promise this is the only one and things are going to get better. Sometime. Later. All the angst for a while though._
> 
> Cyril Morse really is a bit of an odd one for me. I’m all too ready to mark him down as a bad egg, and in a good proportion of the stories I create he is just downright awful. But then the rest of the time, well, I can’t help but wonder, and try to explain, why he ends up the way he does. Can you guess which way I decided upon for this one?

Cyril Morse was not the most well behaved of young men. He liked a drink a bit more than was socially acceptable, he always seemed to have one young lady or another on his arm, and he was pretty bad with money. His parents hoped that, given time, and the right prospects, he would settle down. He was always charming and unfailingly polite, so in the end his family and friends put up with a lot more than they might have done otherwise. By his mid-twenties though he was still living with his parents and they were keen to see him set up on his own or married off.

Everything changed one hot summer evening at a social dance after the local summer fete. A few families were there, and Cyril knew all of them but one. The Gardeners had moved to the area only recently and with them was their 16-year-old daughter, Constance. Cyril was smitten immediately. She had fair hair, and the most captivating of eyes. He set to charming her immediately and by the time the family left that evening he had convinced her to sneak out to meet him the next evening.

He did feel a certain amount of guilt in leading such a proper Quaker girl astray but in the end his attraction to her won out over his sense of moral duty. As the weeks passed Cyril found himself so taken with Constance that he set aside his constant dalliances with other women and got a steady job training as a taxi driver. He even went so far as contemplating asking her to marry, but worried that her parents would not accept him. 

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, he dared to think sometimes) it became apparent after a few short months that their courting had had a consequence. One that was due to arrive in around 6 months by the time Constance realised.  
They had a beautiful winter wedding. There was no snow, but a thick layer of frost made the place look more festive. Their families were about as icy as the world around them. Cyril could practically feel the shotgun at his back as he stepped into the church. It didn’t matter to him though. From the moment he saw Constance arrive in her Sunday best, the dress sitting slightly prominent, unable to hide the growing baby, and a small bouquet of winter flowers clutched nervously in one hand, he knew he had made the right choice to stand by her. 

They moved into a small rented house in Lincoln while they saved to buy their own place. It was small and damp, but it was theirs. 

At first things were wonderful. Constance took to what he saw as the duties of a wife easily. Every day, when he came home from work, the house was bight, and warm, and clean as she could make it. She was an adept cook and far better with money than he was. He enjoyed her company and didn’t miss going out on the town with his friends too much. Most of them had already settled down anyway. Or they had ended up doing time for one reason or another. 

As the spring came around once more and the baby grew, he grew restless and irritable. Constance looked tired and struggled to keep up with his expectations of everything he thought she should be doing. He started finding excuses to go to the pub after his work finished rather than heading home. Things weren’t bad exactly, he did love the girl, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for the burden of being a father. The worst of that was that he was pretty sure Constance knew he felt that way, and that she was just as scared herself.

As the days to the due date reduced so his time in the pub grew longer, until one day he came stumbling home late in the evening to find he had become a father, and his whole world changed once more. 

He knew from the first time he held the tiny bundle that he would do anything for _his_ child. He imagined a whole future for them. Watching him grow, teaching him all the things he had done right, and keeping him away from all that he had done wrong. He felt complete.

Constance was tired and seemed dazed from the experience. She held the baby for a short while before falling deeply asleep. The midwife told him it was normal but to keep an eye on her and bring her in if she did not improve. She would have stayed longer but she was needed to attend at another birth. 

That first night he sat with them both and made so many promises that he would never get to keep. Constance and the baby mostly slept. Towards morning he drifted off to sleep and awoke to bright light working its way around threadbare curtains. He checked on Constance and the baby then went straight to the register office to register the birth. They had already agreed on what names they would go for if it was a boy or a girl so there was no need to wake her. Endeavour Morse was registered as born on the 30th May to Cyril and Constance Morse. He had never felt prouder.

When he got home, he brewed the first cup of tea he had ever made for his wife. By now, he thought, she would surely be awake and in need of something to get her going again. When he got to the bedroom, he knew immediately something was wrong. There was an unnatural shade to Constance’s skin, and she moved fitfully in her sleep. His attempts to rouse her got her to partial wakefulness but she did not recognise him. 

The next few hours were a blur of doctors and hospitals. Constance was admitted with a high fever and an unknown infection. He was left, alone, at home with a new-born baby to care for. The nurses were very kind helping him with feeds and the like, but he felt like he was failing. The baby was constantly crying, and he could do nothing for his wife. On the second day she was lucid enough to pose for a photo holding their child. She was pale and feverish, but Cyril wanted something to remember these first few days with.

The next day was the worst of his life. 

The baby was no longer screaming. Instead he was worryingly quiet. They got to the hospital but in the end, it was too late. Nothing anyone could have done they said. 

Constance was too frail to be told they told him. Best to just arrange a quiet funeral and explain when she was stronger. They fitted him in the next day. There was no one there but himself. No one knew but him, the hospital, and the registrar that recorded the death. He hadn’t enough money for a memorial, so the grave went unmarked.

Constance asked after the baby when he next went in, but he said he was with a neighbour. Best to avoid any risk of catching the mystery virus he said. She nodded understanding but there was a fear in her eyes.

That night, as Cyril sat in their empty little house, he struggled to make sense of what had happened. He began to make his way through a bottle of whiskey and fought the urge to go out and take out his anger on anyone that so much as looked his way. His life had been ruined, _stolen_, and it was just so damn unfair. 

After several more drinks he set off out into the night. It was dark and cold for May. A gentle rain fell steadily, soaking into his thin coat. A child’s cry broke through his thoughts. Through a window he saw a mother with her baby. The crying came from another room. This woman had _two_ children and his had been taken from him. It wasn’t fair at all. The window was ajar slightly. So careless. 

Cyril swayed slightly from the effects of the whiskey and thought about telling Constance about their baby. He thought how it would destroy her. But most of all he thought about how unfair life was and all that he was owed by the universe…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I’m a little addicted to cliffhangers. Not that this one will take too much guessing though. 
> 
> I'm not totally happy about this chapter. Cyril is a tricky one to write. Next chapter – back to Morse and the case.
> 
> Oh, yeah, just realised this kinda classifies as major character death. Oops. Except that the Endeavour Morse you already met is our Endeavour Morse. So this Endeavour Morse is not the character you all know and love/despair of.


	4. St Elmo’s Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the case, and Morse’s panic attack. I think its about time there was a lead, don’t you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sacrificed a proper lunch to type this up. It had the unintentional consequence of helping me to get in character. No wonder Morse is so irritable. Our boy really does need to eat more.

Morse splashed his face with cold water from the sink. He had felt so cold and rain soaked before but now he was stiflingly hot, and the cold water was a refreshing reminder of his need to get control and calm down. He hadn’t rolled up his sleeves, but they couldn’t get much wetter so hopefully no one would notice. He didn’t know if anyone had seen him leave the room in a hurry, and he had been exceptionally lucky that no one had come into the loos while he was in the grips of the panic attack.

He hadn’t had a panic attack like this for a very long time. He had thought they were under control, so it was unsettling to realise how utterly helpless he had been when this one had hit. His lungs burned and his muscles ached like he had run a marathon. Despite the fact he hadn’t had any lunch or breakfast today his stomach churned like he might be sick. Last night’s whiskey sat uncomfortably in his body. 

He tried not to think about the past. He’d made his choices a long time ago and now he had to live with them. Bright’s request had shaken him up. He knew that he wasn’t who he appeared to be. Wasn’t who his parents had presented him as being. He wasn’t Endeavour Morse.

And yet that was exactly who he was. He hadn’t known any other life. He felt like a kind of thief. He had stolen the life the real Endeavour should have had, yet also stolen away from his birth parents the life he should have had with them. 

He had known from the first moment he had seen that photograph of the baby with his mother, _with Endeavour’s mother_, that something was not right in his life. It was only a tiny baby, barely visible in a blanket, but what he could see had made it evident to him that he was not that baby. A shock of dark hair. The small but evident birth mark on an arm. The shape of a face. It was only later he learned more of the truth of it all, but on that day he had realised for the first time there was something wrong with his life’s story. 

He tried to set the thoughts aside. He needed to focus on the case right now. He could worry about birth certificates and identity later.

A few deep breaths, dry his face off, and walk back out to his desk. He could do this. 

His hands shook as he dried his face with paper towels. The cold was reasserting itself with alarming speed. He needed to get back to the report he had been looking at. There was something in it, something important that he couldn’t quite place. He’d almost had it, but it had been swiped clean from his mind when Bright had come by.

\------

The walk back to his desk felt much longer than usual. It felt like everyone was watching him. He kept his head down and tried to ignore the small voice that told him everyone knew how useless he was.

His attempts to re-read the reports and recapture that sense of missing something important were hindered by the growing ache behind his eyes. Blaming the panic attack, he tried to ignore the steadily spreading soreness in his skull, but in the end, he had to admit he was getting nowhere. The words blurred and escaped from him even as he tried to read them. 

A voice behind his shoulder made him start. He had been so focused that he hadn’t noticed the Inspector approaching. 

“Sorry Morse, didn’t mean to make you jump,” Thursday gave him a strained smile. “You look about the way I feel right now lad. Have you taken any time to have a cuppa, or eat something?”

“Not really had time, Sir.” Morse replied, avoiding Thursday’s gaze. “Did you need me for something?” he pressed on before Thursday could try to insist he take a break.

“Call just come in, uniform reckon they’ve located a potential lead. Figured we could head over, check it out.” 

“Of course,” Morse hastily went to stand, temporarily forgetting his headache. The room spun for a moment before sliding out of focus. He stumbled forward, catching his wrist as he tried to reach for the desktop to steady himself. The pain refocused his senses and he managed to catch himself from falling and stand up straight. Thursday had stepped forwards, his arms reaching out to catch him if he fell.

“Morse?” 

“Sorry Sir, tripped over my own feet.” He gave the Inspector a forced half smile as he tried to ignore the pounding of his heart. “Think my leg had gone to sleep. Honestly, I’m fine.” Thursday did not look convinced. He still stood close and his frown told Morse he wasn’t doing very well in his attempt to look like someone who was ‘fine’. Morse was all too aware now that people were surreptitiously watching him. The heat of dread and fear began a slow creep up his back and neck.

“let’s grab a cuppa before we go,” Thursday said with a practiced lightness. It was the same tone parents took with children when they were insisting that they weren’t tired. “I’m parched. Its probably been a fair few hours since I last had a drink and I reckon we’ll need something hot before heading out into that awful cold.”

“I don’t need coddling.” Morse snapped, a little louder than he had intended. People stopped watching covertly and openly stared.

“Humour me.” Thursday bit back. This time it was clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Morse smothered a sign and followed him towards the canteen.

\------

He was loathe to admit it but a cup of tea really had made a difference to how he was feeling. Some of his headache had lifted and he felt more alert and less cold. They had to down the scalding hot liquid as fast as possible to get moving but it was still been good to refresh even if only very briefly.

The drive out to the possible lead took them up to the main city hospital. Apparently, a doctor in the maternity unit had some concerns and thought they might have some bearing on the case. Morse and Thursday barely spoke. Morse couldn’t bring himself to apologise for snapping and Thursday seemed content to leave him to stew. 

The roads were even worse than they had been earlier. There were less cars on the road, many people had elected to stay at home, and few pedestrians were on the streets in the drenching rain. Unfortunately, of the cars that had ventured out, at least 3 they passed had come off the road or collided with another motorist. A distant rumbling told of the thunder rolling in to the city. By the time they got into the hospital after rushing across the parking Morse was thoroughly soaked yet again. Thursday was faring better as he hadn’t been out in the rain for some time and his coat was clearly far better suited to the weather than his own.

The hospital itself was busy. Stormy days always meant a number of accidents and illnesses. They navigated the wards and found their way up to the maternity unit on the first floor. Compared to the maternity home everything here was bright, clean, and modern. At a desk a nurse was completing some notes. She looked up as the two officers entered and immediately made her way over.

“Visiting hours are over gentlemen,” she advised them, politely but firmly. 

Thursday produced his warrant card “We’re here to see Dr. Page. Perhaps you could advise him we’re here?” The nurse gave the warrant a quick glance before nodding.

“Wait here, I’ll just go track him down.” She gave them a more genuine smile than the one that had greeted them and then strode off down the ward. 

Morse felt unsettled again. Dr. Page. Thursday hadn’t mentioned the doctor’s name before. He knew it was nothing, it wasn’t an uncommon name after all, but today it felt like yet another shadow of the past come to haunt him. He thrust his hands in his pockets in search of some small measure of warmth and dryness. Thursday stepped over to the far side of the room to watch the building storm clouds from the nearest window. There was a flash and, after several long seconds, a slow roll of thunder. From along the ward Morse heard the nurse’s steps returning. He turned just in time to see her come around a corner with a doctor.

For the second time that day Morse felt his stomach drop. He found himself unable to move. He felt frozen, and strangely distant from his own body. The shock was like the distant lightning had struck him and left his form hollowed out.

Doctor Page was conversing with the nurse and hadn’t yet looked his way. Thursday still watched the rain. Morse wanted to run, to hide, to do _anything_ to avoid what was coming. But he couldn’t.

The moment hovered on the brink of a seismic shift. 

Then the doctor looked up, and Thursday turned, and Morse's world split apart.

There was a moment as Morse's eyes met those of the doctor, and then they both spoke simultaneously;  
“John?” - “Evan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh! another mysterious cliff-hanger kind of thing. What even am I doing?! In my defence this was the one single cliff-hanger I had actually intended for this story. I’ll try not to leave you hanging too long!


	5. Nativity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constance Morse’s character always presents so many possibilities to me. She gets so little mention that, really, she could be anything we want. In this particular AU I see her as a damn decent person who was just too young to know what to do in a truly awful and unexpected situation.

When the Gardeners moved to Licolnshire, their daughter Constance was 16 years old and desperate for something, anything, exciting to happen. She didn’t want to rebel against her parents exactly. She loved them and truly believed in the power of the faith she had been raised in. Alcohol and partying weren’t things she wanted. Nor was a life of danger. It was just that every day was so very repetitive. She could almost count to the minute everything that would happen in a day from the moment she woke to the time she went to bed. Her whole life, every aspect of her future, seemed to have been planned out for her by her parents. They would listen if she said what it was she wanted. The problem was that she didn’t know. Something other than this dreary monotony. It was just all so damn _boring_.

When she met Cyril Morse, he was the most charming and handsome young man she had ever encountered. He was quite a bit older than her, in his mid to late twenties, so the attention he gave her was flattering. She wasn’t sure exactly what made her agree to his scheme to get some time alone together the day after the dance. She really did like him, but it wasn’t in her nature to sneak around behind her parents’ backs. She wanted to tell him to ask her more formally, but she could see the disapproval in her parents’ faces.

When they met up, she found his personality even more captivating than she had the day before. She found herself caught up in his interest. Before she knew what was happening, Constance had convinced herself that she was in love with Cyril. Yet underneath her outwards confidence in her affections she worried. They were such different people and her parents would never approve. She didn’t ask him what his intentions were for fear that he would see how futile it was and leave her. 

Constance didn’t notice the first signs of her pregnancy. She hadn’t really been taught what to expect from her body, so she didn’t really know there was anything happening. In then end it was Cyril that noticed. Despite the intimate nature of their relationship she found herself utterly embarrassed by the questions he was asking her. Then when he explained why she was left stunned. A complex mix of joy and terror filled her. She was 16 and unmarried. _’We have to decide what to do.’_ he told her. But for Constance there was no decision to be made. No matter what happened she was going to have her baby and she would love and protect them as long as she lived.

Telling her parents was by far the hardest thing she had ever done. Cyril offered to come with her, but she was worried about their reactions. She sat stood in the middle of their pristine living room, head held high, but jaw clenched to try and stop any tears. Defiant in her choices. They insisted she marry Cyril of course. He had already said he would so that wasn’t a problem. But the shame and disgust on their faces would stay with her for a very long time after that day.

\------

A wedding was arranged in the shortest possible time, but still her growing bump showed under her dress. She had wanted to wear another but the cut on her favourite was too straight and would have left no doubt about her state. It didn’t really matter as the only ones to see it were her parents, and Cyril’s.

Their first home was awful compared to the comfort she had been used to with her parents. She worked so hard to make it look and feel better but slowly the constant effort began to take its toll. The growing baby left her tired and the hours and hours alone each day in the house made her feel like she was going mad. She would go out to the shops to get groceries just to escape the feeling of the walls closing in on her in the house. Unfortunately, the shops presented their own problems in the form of the gossips staring at her and whispering about how young she was. They didn’t know her, but that didn’t seem to matter to them.

Cyril became more and more distant to her and by the time she was ready to give birth she practically never saw him. She would have regretted ever taking up with him but then, she thought, she wouldn’t have this baby, and she wouldn’t wish it away for the world. Sometimes the only kind face she saw for days on end was the midwife when she would call in to check on her. 

When Constance went into labour, she had been feeling unwell for a couple of days already. She thanked God that the midwife was visiting to check on her that afternoon because the terror that overcame her when her waters broke felt like more than she could bear. The hours after that were a blur. The birth was relatively quick, thankfully, and afterwards she found herself tired beyond anything she had ever felt before. She was vaguely aware of Cyril arriving, of his coming and going in the night, but then nothing for what seemed like forever. 

She woke in a hospital bed. Her husband and baby were in a chair by her bedside, and a curtain surrounded them. A safe little cocoon away from the shock and pain of the last hours. She was aware that things were not right still. Her thoughts scattered even as she tried to focus on them, and her muscles seemed full of hot lead. She focussed as hard as she could as Cyril spoke and held on to the small thread of awareness just long enough to hold her baby close. Then they were gone.

The next two weeks flowed past her in a sea of pain, confusion, and exhaustion. Sometimes Cryril was there, sometimes he wasn’t, but her baby never was. She asked after him, begged to see him, but all he would do was avoid her eyes. He’s with a neighbour, in the creche, with a nurse - _best he stays away_, he would say. She was convinced he was lying but couldn’t stand to ask why.

Then, mercifully, she was finally well enough to go home. Cyril picked her up from the hospital in a taxi borrowed from the firm he worked for. She was still tired and so slept until the car stopped. When she opened her eyes it wasn’t to their little house in Lincoln but to a small terrace of houses on a quiet rural road. Cyril was smiling at her in a way that should have been good but instead set her on edge. There was a kind of mania to it she had never seen about him before. _’We’re home,_ he said, _’I found us a nicer place, and our Endeavour is waiting inside for us.’_

\------

At first she put her unease down to her illness and the sudden move. She hadn’t been able to be with her little boy during his all important first days and that hurt. Cyril watched her every move like she might break. He was very good with Endeavour in terms of feeds and changes, but she saw that he seemed to avoid actually looking at him, let alone holding him with anything that resembled caring. But there was an unease underlying it all. Something seemed wrong somehow.

It was like watching a play of her own life. Very realistic, but with an art to it that couldn’t help but feel forced. She tried to ask Cyril but he brushed it off _rest_ he told her, _you’ve been ill and confused_.

Over time she set those feelings aside as best she could. She devoted every moment she could to her son. Her love for him was the most important and dependable thing in her life. For a while things were good.

Then the war came. 

Cyril was called up as a driver in the army. Constance barely saw him from the day he left until the day she asked him for a divorce. She could have lived with his erratic behaviour around her, but the strange way he looked at their son, the way he refused to hold him, the way he even seemed to resent or hate him sometimes, that she would not live with. When she presented him with the papers, he signed them silently. It was the only time she ever saw him cry. She packed her bags and took Endeavour to their new home; a damp basement flat in the city.

There was a shortage of nurses and she had done her basic training while Cyril was away, so Constance found work easily. The hours were long, and some of the things she saw were traumatic, but it was rewarding, and it gave her the income she needed to maintain their independence. Her family had been distant from the day she married, but her divorce had been the last straw for them, so she had to make it on her own to support herself and her son.

\------

Constance had not been to a service since she had married. Her parents had made it clear she was not welcome in their community. Then one day she passed a small meeting house and felt the call once more. Her return to faith gave her a purpose she hadn’t realised had been so sorely missing. That evening she looked through a box she had yet to unpack for her bible. Inside she found her books but caught up with them was a small album of photographs she hadn’t intended to take. It was Cyril’s and she ought to return it. The spine was well worn and as she handled it the album fell open to a particular page.

Her own face looked back at her, young, pale, ill. In her arms was her son, her Endeavour. She only vaguely remembered the photograph being taken. The baby was so small, with dark hair and a face just like Cyril’s. He looked nothing like the other photos she had of him. The dread that filled her was not so much a shock as something all too familiar. A feeling of something not fitting. 

In a kind of frenzy Constance emptied the few boxes she had left unopened to protect them from the damp. She found the album she was looking for. There weren’t many photos but there were a couple from those first weeks as she had recovered from her illness. Barely 2 weeks separated that first photo in Cyril’s album and these but the difference in her boy was unmistakable - _one of these babies was not her child!_

She knew in her heart the truth of it. The boy she loved more than anything, her Endeavour, was not the one she had given birth to. Something had happened and Cyril had ended up with the wrong baby. Maybe at the creche? Or in the hospital nursery?

But how could he make that mistake? They had different hair, their faces were not the same, and her baby had a birth mark. The thought would not leave her alone. The photo was in black and white so maybe what seemed like dark hair was a more subtle brown in the light. Had perhaps her Endeavour had darker hair at birth? She could understand how someone might not notice the shape of a face, or even how it could look less alike in a photo than in life. And the birth mark? No, she recalled from her nursing training how those could fade rapidly after birth, so maybe it had been gone whenever it happened.

The thought that plagued her most was that somewhere out there another woman had her baby.

\------

Over the next few weeks Constance watched her young son and thought. Should she act on this revelation? What good would it do to tell anyone? Yes, she wanted her baby back, but she would not part with Endeavour for the world, and surely they would demand him back in return. What if they could not even find her baby? Would she then be left without both the child she had given birth to AND the child she had raised?

She put the photo away in a drawer and chose instead to pray her baby was loved and cared for. She could tell Endeavour when he was an adult and could choose for himself. Endeavour was her son and she loved him, no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I… I don’t know what happened here. This was meant to be short! Why is this now the second longest chapter?!? Constance just demanded to be heard.
> 
> I sometimes wish Constance had lived. Just think how different things could have been for our poor Endeavour if she had. What if Cyril had died instead? What if Cyril had just been a better Dad? I might just store some of those thoughts up for another fic or two someday.
> 
> Next chapter, back to the case, a bit of Thursday POV, and a big reveal! (Hopefully tomorrow but maybe in a couple of days depending on how busy I get.)


	6. Castor and Pollux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday is confused, and who can blame him!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday everyone! We made it to the big reveal. Well. One of them. The main one. The one this whole story spawned from.

Fred Thursday was often confused by Morse. The lad seemed determined to keep as much of his personal life to himself as possible. He would have let it go, had tried to a fair few times, but in the end he couldn’t quite bring himself to sit back and watch as Morse isolated himself to the point where no one would notice if he drank himself into an early grave. Then there would come the odd day where Morse would suddenly open up a fraction about something, and Fred would get a rare, and precious, insight into what had made him this way. That father of his certainly had a lot to answer for. Likewise, he didn’t really want to think about all the things Morse failed to say about his stepmother. 

Today, Thursday had known something was brewing from the minute Morse was late to pick him up. Then there were all the times he failed to speak. No acerbic comments about the staff at the maternity home, no offbeat queries for the mother of the child, no opinions forcefully thrown across his desk on how they should be moving the case forward. He had seen him stand several times, a deep frown creasing his thin face as he stared the boards down, then sit down moments later having said nothing. He had noticed the lad practically flee the room after speaking with Bright. That near fall earlier had particularly worried him. Morse was very far from fine and he didn’t seem like he was going to say why. 

Getting the lad to drink a mug of tea had been a small victory in an otherwise tense and helpless day. He kept one eye on him in the car to the hospital, giving him space to open up about whatever was wrong if he so chose, but it seemed like the silence was destined to roll on for some time longer. Fred had no idea when Morse had last eaten but he was pretty sure it wasn’t today. 

Perhaps, if the case came to a good close, he could convince him to come back for a decent meal. After he got changed from those soaked clothes of course – that couldn’t be doing him any good. He would have to approach it in the right way. He sometimes likened the danger of trying to show Morse a kindness to that of a feral cat. If his offer looked anything like pity or judgement, he was much more likely to get a swipe of the claws and a hungry cat hiding in a leaky barn than he was to get him safe, dry, and fed.

\------

Despite having had the sense that there was something up with his self-destructive sergeant, Thursday was not prepared for the events of their meeting with Dr Page. He had been watching the thunderstorm coming in, the lightning marking jagged paths in the navy sky, when he had heard the doctor arrive with the nurse who had greeted them. Something about his voice was familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place. He turned back to the room to be met with a scene he was unlikely to forget.

Morse was staring at the doctor. His eyes were wide and blank. There was none of the usual air of prickliness he generally wore as a kind of shield against the world. It was like a window through to the vulnerable child beneath his mask of self-sufficiency. At first there was only silence and Thursday didn’t really take in the doctor. Then Morse and Dr Page spoke simultaneously, their voices clashing and merging in equal measure.

“Evan?” – “John?”

The whole scene was completely bizarre. The shock in Morse’s face was mirrored on that of Dr Page. In fact, near enough everything of Morse was mirrored in the doctor. Their hair, their build, their height, _their eyes_… two faces formed from the same mould.

And then the scene came apart as, for the second time that day, Morse’s eyes lost focus, and he swayed, before collapsing. His body crumpling to the floor. Thursday realised he had been holding his breath as he quickly moved the few short strides across the room to try and break the fall.

Dr Page and the nurse got to Morse’s collapsed form just a moment after him. The shock of just seconds before was lost to business-like efficiency as they checked his pulse and reactions. 

“He probably just fainted,” Thursday offered. He kept a little back to let the professionals work. “Don’t think he’s had anything to eat today.” The nurse nodded to him in acknowledgment. “Big case you know. It can be hard to find the time.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to defend Morse. Everyone else at the station had found at least a few moments to take care of themselves. Yet the vulnerability he had seen in Morse before he passed out had stirred all the fatherly feelings he tried to avoid fostering for the lad. 

It was surreal, watching someone that looked _exactly_ like Morse kneeling beside Morse listening to his heartbeat. Fred had so many questions. How had Morse never mentioned he had a brother? No, not just a brother, a twin - _ an identical twin?!_ What had those names they had said been about? 

The lad stirred and opened his eyes. He blinked at the bright light of the ward. Thursday relaxed a little. He had said it was probably a faint, nothing serious, but it was good to see him conscious again. Morse made a move to get up, but the doctor placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“Best stay put. You fainted so you’ll be a lightheaded for a while after and if you go standing up right away you’ll just end up back on the floor.” Dr Page gave an all too familiar, wry, half smile and Thursday’s heart skipped a beat. 

It was just all too weird. 

Morse nodded and then closed his eyes and winced.

“Does anything hurt?” The nurse asked. Her voice was gentle, but she couldn’t seem to help looking between the two men. “We should check you didn’t hit anything as you fell. How is your head feeling?” 

“I’m fine.”

Thursday gave a half laugh of disbelief. “Morse. You’re on the floor having just fainted on us, and you can’t nod without wincing. Try again.” Morse opened his eyes and looked at him.

“Fine. I’ve got a headache. But I had that before… well…” he closed his eyes again. “I don’t think I hit anything. Honestly.”

The nurse gave Thursday a grateful look.

“Right. Well, that’s as may be, but you still need to recover from going over on us. So how about you listen to the medical professionals, eh?”

“We need to get on with the case.”

“Not while you’re on the floor we don’t.”

“If it would convince you to stay put there for five minutes,” Dr Page cut through their squabbling, “then I’ll go and talk with... Sorry, we didn’t get as far as introductions.” He looked uncomfortable now.

“Detective Inspector Thursday.” He held his hand out to the doctor to help him up. The man took it gratefully, rising to stand with an angular kind of grace that was just like that of his double.

“Doctor John Page.” He gave Thursday another half smile as they shook hands. He looked down at Morse and seemed about to speak but then thought better of it. “We can talk in my office.” He nodded to a door just across the ward. “If you could just stay there with the nurse...” The awkward pause as he reached for what to address Morse as was not lost on Thursday. What the hell was going on here?!

\------

Thursday and Dr Page left Morse to the care of the nurse and headed along the ward to the doctor’s office. The room was warm and welcoming, if rather chaotic. There were books along the whole of one wall. Mementos and photographs were propped amongst them on the shelves. The furniture, unlike the ward, was worn and comfortable. What caught Thursday’s eye though was the record player on top of a filing cabinet and the stack of records carefully tucked away beside it. The one at the top, Castor et Pollux, looked suspiciously like an opera.

Dr Page took a seat behind his desk and nodded for Thursday to take a seat opposite. Thursday had a feeling like he was in a waking dream. It had been strange enough to see the two of them together but now, seeing John Page sitting at the desk across from him, he could barely notice the slight differences he had seen before. It felt like they should be discussing the case as colleagues, not as a possible witness and an officer.

“I... are you here because of my call earlier?” The voice was the one definite tell. Thursday noted that there were similarities but Page had a different accent and was softer spoken.

“Yes, the officer you spoke to didn’t get many details, but he said you had some information you thought could be important to the missing child case?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps.” The doctor looked down at his hands. “it seemed important earlier...”

“Any information might prove helpful.”

The doctor considered his next words carefully. “There’s a nurse… A regular visitor to the ward. She also works regularly in the Botley maternity home.” He looked up at Thursday and clasped his hands together. “I… I worry about the way she is with the infants. She often seems to be unable to step back when she is worried about the family of a child. Recently I… I found her in another ward with an infant. A different department of the hospital. She had a reason… an excuse… but it seemed strange.” He sighed and his gaze drifted to the door back to the ward. “Now I say it out loud it all seems so insignificant. Maybe I overreacted.”

“Which nurse was this?” 

“Watkins, Nurse Watkins.” He looked back to Thursday “I’m sorry… I don’t even know her first name. I’ve only been with the hospital a few weeks.” Thursday noticed that doctor’s hands were shaking. “I’m sorry...” His voice had a tremor to it.

“Do you think she would be capable of harm?”

“No! No, I don’t think that’s it.”

“Do you mind if I ask, what do you suspect then?”

There was a long pause before finally, and with a strength of feeling that Thursday had not expected, he answered, “I think she may have some… issue. That she cannot disconnect from these infants. That she might, if she came to believe one was at risk, be moved to take them. I think that is what happened that time I found her on the other ward.” He drew an unsteady breath. “I’m sorry. This is all just speculation. I don’t really know her well enough to make any kind of accurate judgement. I’m so sorry if I’ve wasted your time...” 

“There’s nothing to apologise for. Thank you for reporting it. We’ll be sure to look in to it further.” He stood. “Do you think...” They both looked to the door to the ward where they had left Morse and the nurse. “I ought to get back to the Sergeant. Get him home to rest.” He turned to leave.

“Wait-” Dr Page had stood up behind his desk, his arm reaching out. He began to speak, his voice thick and unsteady with emotion. “I… I know this is not the best time… but this has all been such a… a shock. Please, where can I come… after… after your case is solved? I want… I need to see him. To talk.”

Thursday considered the young man before him. He didn’t know what was the right thing to do. He needed to talk to Morse and find out what this was all about. But he found himself unable to refuse the face that looked so like that of the lad he often thought of as a second son. He took out his pad and tore out a sheet of paper, making a note of his name and number at the station before handing it over.

“You can reach me at the office on that number,” he looked back to the ward, “Give me a call in the morning. We can see where we go from there.”

“Thank you.” The doctor reached out to Thursday. As they shook hands he added, “I know you’re just his senior officer but… please, look after Evan. That faint… he looks like he really needs a proper rest, and soon. If he pushes himself too hard he could end up much more seriously ill.” 

“Of course. It’s clear the lad needs a rest. I’ll see to it.” Thursday agreed, and then headed back onto the ward, leaving Dr Page behind in his office.

_Evan._ Not many people knew what the E on Morse’s notes stood for. Thursday was one of the very few that knew it stood for Endeavour. So why had the doctor called him Evan? What on earth was going on, and who exactly was his sergeant really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this a surprise? Did anyone guess that twist? I’d be curious to know if you did. And impressed, as there were very, very, few hints. Next chapter will be looking back at what Morse knew, and didn’t, and how he found out. Not sure how good or bad I’ll be at writing over the weekend, but I intend to get at least one chapter out sometime over the 2 days.


	7. Familiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constance was wonderful. Cyril is an idiot. Gwen can go do one. And Morse really needs some self-esteem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a busy day yesterday so sorry for the little wait. Hopefully I'll be back to daily uploads for the last 3 chapters after this.

From the day he found _that_ photograph Endeavour Morse had known there was something his parents weren’t telling him. He decided, after careful thought, that maybe he had had a brother, but that brother had died, or gone away. Sometimes his mother seemed sad and she wouldn’t say why so he thought it was probably more likely that his brother had died. 

Endeavour decided not to mention it to his mother. He knew enough about grief, growing up in the war, to know that it would likely make her unhappy, and he didn’t want that. He’d ask her when he was older. When she was less sad. Sometimes, when they were out in the park taking a walk together, or when they went to a cafe to share a slice of cake on special occasions, he would think about raising the subject, but each time he changed his mind to avoid spoiling their happy moment.

In the end he never got to ask her. He won a scholarship to a prestigious school when he was 11 and began boarding there. When he came home for the Easter holidays he found her ill. At first it seemed to be a cold, or another mild virus, but then it became more obvious that she was seeing the doctors about it and it was much more serious. Eventually, she admitted that she had a kind of cancer, and that there was little hope for recovery. 

Going back to school was no longer an option. Endeavour stayed by his mother’s side for the last few weeks of her life. He nursed her at home as long as was possible, but finally she got too sick and he had to relinquish her to the cold, sterile, corridors of the hospital. He hated the place. There was not life to it. No vibrancy. He wondered how anyone could ever recover in such a hopeless place.

The staff would only let him visit twice a day. He had to pretend to be living with a relative to avoid being sent away to be ‘looked after’ by someone else, and sent back to school. He told himself he didn’t need anyone to look after him. He could do that for himself. But the space his mother left in their tiny home was wider than he could ever have imagined possible. He missed her warmth and love. Left all alone it began to feel like he was freezing up inside. Acting like it was all fine began to take its toll. 

He didn’t have to keep up the pretence long. One bright spring morning he came in to the hospital to find that his mother had died during the night.

\------

After the death of Constance, Endeavour had no choice other than to admit he was on his own now. He was swiftly shipped off to live with his father, who he hadn’t seen since his parents divorce, his stepmother, Gwen, and his half sister, Joyce, neither of whom he had ever met. He felt utterly numb. He felt like there was a hole in his chest where his heart and lungs should be. Every breath involved such a magnitude of effort that it drained all his energy.

In the first few weeks his father did make something of an effort. He arranged the funeral, moved what little belongings were Endeavour’s into a tiny spare bedroom, and boxed up a few of his mother’s things for him. He couldn’t bring himself to ask what happened to the rest. For a while his father tried to shape him into something he could live with. He took him out into the fields to learn to shoot, and to the pub. Shooting came easily to him but he hated it, and in the end Cyril gave up the effort when he realised Endeavour could hit pretty much any mark he set, but would intentionally miss when he set him to trying for live targets. As for the pub, when they were there Endeavour could feel all eyes on him, so he claimed to have taken the Pledge and refused all alcohol. They never went again.

From then on his father barely acknowledged him, except to tell him when he was wrong, or had failed, or was generally not meeting his expectations as usual. Gwen was worse. She sniped and bit at him every moment he was in her line of sight. Little Joyce was his one and only ray of light in those dreary days in his father’s bleak cottage. He lived for term times, and the relative safety in the numbness of school. At least there he could think and learn in peace most of the time.

Between school, which held its own challenges, and ‘home’, he didn’t have much cause to think about the photograph, until one day when he was 14 and home for the summer holidays. He’d learned by then to dread that long stretch of time out in the countryside. There was nothing to do. He would have readily helped around the house, but Gwen made it clear she wanted him nowhere near her and any time he did something she would inevitably be round to re-do it a short time later. She also discouraged him, as far as possible, from spending any time with Joyce. His father was out with work all day, and in the pub most of the night. There were very few buses into town and he didn’t have any money to go anyway, so most days were spent holed up in the box room reading and re-reading every book he owned, or out walking in the countryside. 

That particular day had been no different to all the rest until the evening came around. A neighbour came knocking to say that his father was passed out, drunk, in the local, and could someone come and pick him up. Gwen had looked at the poor man in utter disdain and then sent Endeavour. He was tall for his age, but thin and certainly not strong enough to carry his father. The neighbour gave him a pitying look as the door closed on them and then hurried away. It took a lot of effort to rouse Cyril enough to get him moving at least partly under his own steam so Endeavour could prop him up and guide him. 

Around half way home there was a hole in the pavement. The pair stumbled and fell, and no amount of begging would get Cyril back up. Endeavour sat down on the hard packed earth in defeat. “Can’t even get your old man home...” Cyril grumbled, “useless little… Not that I am really. You’re not _my_ son.” The last was said with such venom it shocked Endeavour. 

“What?”

“Never you mind! Mind your own business. Now get me home!”

\------

His father had been drunk. He might have meant what he said in a not so literal way. In the morning he acted the way he always did and never made any reference to what he had said. From that day on Endeavour found himself comparing everything with his father. Their height, their build, their hair… none of it matched. He looked back at photographs of his mother and compared them too. There were some similarities but none that stood out as definitively marking him as their child or not. His thoughts strayed to the hidden photograph he had found as a child. There was something he wasn’t being told.

What if his mother had had him before she met Cyril? What if the boy in the photograph was Cyril’s son and he had died. He would have been too young to remember if she had had a baby when he was really young.

The turning point came in the form of a letter from his school. They would be doing an ancestry project the next term and requested he bring in his birth certificate. He spent several days putting off asking but eventually found the courage to ask one dinner time. The response was not good. Cyril stared at him for an awkwardly long amount of time and then announced he had lost it. He asked if there was a way to get a copy. Gwen then used the opportunity to tell him off for wasting his father’s precious time. _Don’t you know that your father has better things to do than run around after useless little boys?_ He stored this away in his heart along with all her other comments and criticisms. He couldn’t get anything right. Maybe he really was a waste of space as he’d heard her say so many times before.

\------

Endeavour took what little money he had saved and went to town on the bus the very next day. He didn’t want to upset anyone but he also couldn’t face the embarrassment of coming to school without his birth certificate. _My father lost it_ sounded like a recipe for drawing attention to himself in the worst kind of way.

It didn’t take him long to find the records office. The receptionist was a friendly young woman. She directed him to a clerk in the next room. The clerk was young, had a crumpled suit, and air of nervousness about him. He fidgeted as Endeavour made his request and handed him a form to fill out. Once completed he vanished off through a side door for a long time. Endeavour waited anxiously for some time. The clerk eventually returned with a copy birth certificate. 

He wasn’t completely sure what he had been expecting but his name, date of birth, and both his mother’s name and Cyril’s was not it. Perhaps a blank by the father. Perhaps another name. But not this. He was more confused than ever. Endeavour was about to leave when a thought came to him.

“Do you have death certificates too?”

The clerk frowned, “this _is_ births, marriages, and deaths...”

“Can I request one if I’m not sure on the date, or the first name?” Perhaps he could find out the mystery of his brother without having to ask his father.

“I...” the clerk hesitated, clearly confused by the request.

“Its for my brother. I… I don’t know exactly when he was born or died, he was only a baby, but it must have been after me. He would have had the same surname, Morse.”

“I don’t know... It isn’t usual.”

“Perhaps if you started on the same date and worked forwards? There can’t be many Morse’s. I could look for you if it would help.” 

Another couple came in. The clerk looked anxiously from them to Endeavour and then nodded. “I’ll be with you in just a minute,” he called to the couple, then led Endeavour into the room he had gone into before. He quickly explained how the filing system worked and then fled back to the desk.

The ledgers for death records were not located where the clerk had said but Endeavour worked out the system pretty quickly. Within a few minutes he had found the right ledger and taken it to a convenient table at the end of the aisle. He found his date of birth with relative ease. Luckily the person that had been filling the ledger had an easy to read hand. He began to skim from there, intending to jump at least a few months forward, when a name on the right of the page, on a date just a couple of days after he was born, jumped out at him. 

_Morse_. 

He hesitated for a moment then shifted the book over to read the entry.

_Morse, Endeavour. Parents Morse, Cyril F & Constance (Nee Gardener). Born 30th May. Deceased 2nd June. Causes unknown._

The words were stark and angular. They dug into his brain. According to this book he was dead. He felt sick and empty. Like a void had opened up in his mind. He couldn’t think. He needed to think. 

If Endeavour Morse was dead then _who was he?_

\------

He stored the birth certificate away in one of his text books. Cyril and Gwen didn’t ask where he had been all day. He doubted they cared.

Nothing felt right any more. He felt like he was a fake, an imitation of what he ought to be, _who_ he ought to be. He didn’t know who he was. There were so many questions he wanted to ask but no one he could ask them of. 

He was scared of what his father would answer if asked. _You’re not my son._ he had said. Now he knew he couldn’t be. So _who was he?_

Over his last few days at home he came to hate hearing his name. Endeavour. It wasn’t his. He felt like a thief. He had stolen some other child’s name. 

At school things were easier. He was referred to as Morse. He had never much liked it before, it made him think of his father, but now he clung on to it like a life raft. His mother had sometimes said to him; _you’re my son, no matter what._ That at least felt real. One way or another, she had been his mother, and he, her son.

\------

It took Morse several long and dreadful years, and one heartbreak, to even consider even trying to solve the mystery of who he was. His failed engagement had sent him fleeing from Oxford, his degree unfinished, and left him a damaged and discarded resident in his old room back in the Lincolnshire countryside.

Morse had thought many times over the years that there had to be a way he could find out about his past. Now he latched on to that in a kind of desperation. Perhaps finding his past would fix whatever was so broken about him now. 

If he was born around the same date as Endeavour, and came to be with his parents only a short time after they had lost their own baby, then there must be a limited number of other people he could be. He contacted adoption agencies local to Lincoln but none had any record of his parents. He widened his search but their names were conspicuously absent. If he was adopted then it had to have been a private arrangement, and not registered.

Though at the time it seemed futile, his next move proved to be his most life changing. 

Morse decided to look back through the birth announcements in the local papers. The county library had back copies stored in their stacks so he began his search there, from his date of birth onwards. The first couple turned up nothing of note as they were announcing births from the week before. Then, as he picked up one from the week after his birth he was struck by an image on the front cover. A couple were pictured below the headline, ‘Baby missing from nursery – witnesses sought’. He might have skimmed past it but for the photograph. The couple looking back at him from the page looked so familiar to him in a way the people who had raised him never had. The black and white image of the man could have been him, just older.

His heart raced faster as he read on. Josephine Page had left their 3-day-old baby, Evan, in the nursery to tend to their other infant, John, and upon her return had found the window open and her baby missing. It went on to tell of the search, of the lack of witnesses, and appealed for anyone with information to contact the police. Surely this couldn’t be him. He had never considered the possibility that he had been taken rather than given.

He looked to the next paper for more information to find Andrew Page had been questioned on suspicion of harming his baby, then there was nothing more. Nothing. He looked weeks into the future, combing every part of the paper. Finally, he found a small piece on the 6th page, several weeks later, apologising for the article about Mr Page. The police had ruled him out completely as a suspect, and restated the need for witnesses in the case. The casual disregard with which it was buried among articles about a new shop, and the river being dredged, left Morse breathless. 

There wasn’t enough air in the library. The silence pressed in on him and the crowded stacks weighed heavily against him. The reams of paper on the desk felt like they would come tumbling down and crush him.

\------

Morse came around to the smell of old paper and the feel of newsprint on his hands and face. He was all too familiar with his panic attacks by now. It took a while to recover when one had taken him over so completely. He needed to get out and into the fresh air to think. Carefully he restored the papers to their places in the stacks and made his way up and out into the street.

He walked purposefully through the streets until he found himself in the park he had visited with his mother as a child. He sat down on their bench and tried to think.

The familiar surroundings were comforting and painful in equal measure. If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine his mother sat beside him. But she was only a pale ghost of a memory. Each time he thought of her he realised how little he now remembered. He couldn’t lose what he did have of her. Somehow, pursuing this lead, looking for his birth family, felt like a disrespect to her. It felt like he was placing an accusation on her memory. He couldn’t believe it of her that she would steal a child. He wouldn’t.

Of course, he thought, remembering the dates, she couldn't have done it. She had been in hospital for two weeks after Endeavour's birth. So what then? Had his father, had Cyril, done something foolish after his son died? That he could sadly believe. He had seen enough of his father's drunken behaviour to know he was capable of so much stupidity. Before today he would never have thought he would do anything so bad, but now...

And if he pursued things? What would happen to Cyril then? If he was held accountable, found guilty, it would hurt Joyce. Gwen too, not that that mattered so much to him. He was past needing his step mother to like him, but he cared about Joycie, sister or not, and would never knowingly do anything that would hurt her.

What of the family that had lost him? If he was the Pages' son, if he was Evan, then he had parents somewhere, and a brother. They must have mourned for their boy. What would happen if he went to them? What if he was right, he was their baby, and he had been missing all these years? They must have moved on by now. To suddenly appear would surely destroy them. They would be a normal, happy, family, and his presence would only harm that. Better to leave them be. Better not to ruin any more families than he already had.

The next day he signed up to the army and vowed never to look back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there we go, that is what Morse knew before today!
> 
> FWIW - I am pretty sure that records offices didn’t ever officially work in the way I’ve made up in this, nor that records were stored in the way necessary for this plot to work. I’m blaming it on the member of staff he spoke to being not very well trained and not my previous plot hole that needed filling. Parish records would have been much easier, and my original idea, but given that the original Endeavour never made it to being baptised that ended up a no go. 
> 
> Next chapter we're back to Morse in the present, and the case.


	8. Monozygotic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we’re back to Morse and the case in the current day. He’s got quite the headache and no ability to respect the limits of his own body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for every day updates! Sorry! I got a bit overtaken by things the last couple of days. Then I got a bit stuck. But I think I’m unstuck now.

Morse didn’t know which was worse, having come face to face with his past, having Thursday there to see it, or having then passed out. The last was completely embarrassing. He was laid out on a hospital floor, being fussed over by a nurse, while Thursday interviewed his brother. His _twin_ brother. 

Would it have made a difference if he had known that detail? He had known he might have a brother, but an identical twin was not exactly something you could deny. Why wouldn’t the papers he read have mentioned that fact? It seemed like a rather significant detail. Surely if he’d known that, he’d have had to at least do a bit more research to avoid a situation like this one. Running into your long lost identical twin in the middle of a police investigation was far from ideal for anyone involved. 

The nurse helped him to stand up and get over to a nearby chair. The world spun a little but he didn’t feel quite as bad as he had a few minutes before. She left him to go and fetch him a drink. As Morse sat in the chair, head in his hands, his mind raced back over the last few minutes. He’d said John’s name. Why had he done that? If he hadn’t said that one word then maybe he could have got away with claiming it was all news to him. That his faint had been from the shock of it all. 

In fairness he had to admit that had been a factor. Unfortunately the rest of the reason he was pretty sure was that he needed to have had something more than a lone cup of tea in the space of 24 hours. The pain in his head made it hard to think clearly. He needed to think of what he would say, what he would do, when Thursday came back. The nurse reappeared with a cup of tea and some biscuits. 

“Drink that and have a couple of biscuits and I might just let you go.” She fixed him with an uncompromising look. Morse sipped the tea and winced. He wasn’t sure how much sugar she had loaded into it but it was significantly more than he would ever consider reasonable. She raised an eyebrow and Morse tried to smile reassuringly at her. It came out more of a grimace. Conceding defeat he took another swig of the foul, syrupy tea, and then picked up a biscuit. That, thankfully, was bland, dry, and nowhere near as sweet as the ‘tea’. His stomach objected and tried to rebel as he ate it but his determination not to be hospitalised won out.

Thursday emerged from an office along the ward and made his way over to the staring match.

“He can go when he’s finished that. And at least one more biscuit.” The nurse informed them, before striding away back to her patients on the ward.

“Feeling better?” Thursday asked. His tone was carefully bland but Morse could tell he was not happy.

“Much. We should get going.” He stood slowly and went to set the vile cup of liquid down. 

“Morse, do you think I’m deaf? Drink that or I’m leaving you here.” They stared at one another for a while. Eventually Morse decided that drinking near pure sugar was preferable to staying in a hospital. He downed the remainder of the cup in one go and loaded the biscuits into his pocket. Thursday sighed. “I guess that’ll have to do.”

They made their way slowly, and painfully silently, back to the car. The weather outside was worse than ever, and Morse was in no fit state to run, so by the time they got in the car he was now just as soaked as before and even Thursday’s far superior coat had given in somewhat. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe Thursday would let him anywhere near the wheel so he handed over the keys wordlessly and got in the passenger side. Thursday set the heater to its highest setting and then nodded to Morse. “Biscuits.” He was temporarily confused before he recalled the biscuits from the nurse in his pocket. He pulled one out. It was now slightly soggy, as well as bland. He began the slow exercise of eating it under Thursday’s watchful eye.

They drove in silence for several minutes before Thursday finally spoke up. “So. You going to explain?”

“How did the interview go?” He countered.

“Really, Morse!” Thursday was very far from happy. “Or should I say Evan?” Morse panicked. What had John said about him? What did he know?

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why would you call me Evan?”

“It was the name he used. I’m going to take a not-so-wild guess and say he’s your identical twin. Or are you going to deny that too?” Morse settled on silence as the only possible response. He wanted to deny it, to deflect all attention away from the matter somehow, but really it would be madness for him to try and claim the man they had just met hadn’t looked exactly like him. “I need you to tell me what is going on. Right now.” Thursday pressed him. What was he meant to say. He looked out the window to avoid having to look at Thursday and noted they were not in the right part of town to be going to the station.

“Where are we going?”

“Taking you home.” 

“What? Why?”

“You really have to ask?” Thursday’s voice was laden with exasperation. Morse turned back to stare at him. “Fine. One, because you are soaked through and need to change your clothes. Two, because you need to eat and drink something more than tea and wet biscuits. Three, because your only other option is that I turn around right now and leave you in A&E. You passed out Morse.”

“That was from the shock.”

“Shock? So you’re telling me you didn’t know you had an identical twin. One whose name you knew.” He couldn’t tell if it was anger or disbelief that coloured Thursday’s tone now.

“I...” Morse reached for anything to avoid the conversation they were having “Its complicated. And irrelevant to the case. What did the doctor have to say about the case?”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“Because it isn’t relevant. I’m fine now.” Morse knew his tone was petulant but his desperation to talk about anything other than _that_ won out over his acting skills.

“Like hell you are,” Thursday laughed disdainfully.

“If I wasn’t fit to, they wouldn’t have let me leave,” Morse argued.

“That’s as may be, but it doesn’t negate anything I said now does it?”

“If I change and have a sandwich can we please just move on and get on with this case?” He felt like a child, begging for pocket money. “Surely the safety of this baby is more important than anything right now! You need everyone you can get on this. You need me, dammit!”

“Yes, I need you. But not in the state you’re in currently!” They pulled up outside Morse’s flat. Thursday looked over to him and sighed. “Fine. You get changed and I’ll make you a bite to eat. If you eat that, and I believe you’re genuinely feeling better, then I’ll see about letting you back on.”

“We shouldn’t be wasting any time.”

“Then hurry up and get in there and sorted. We can talk through what the doctor reported while you’re eating.” 

Morse wanted to argue but it had been his own suggestion, so instead he got out of the car and made his way to the flat.

\------

The only suit that was really appropriate for him to change into had not met with an iron in quite some time. He glared at it as he stood in the bathroom towelling his hair dry. It would have to do. If he wanted to stay on the case he needed to pull off at least a minimally convincing level of ‘fine’. He could hear Thursday in the kitchen working his was through the cupboards and fridge. Morse regretted his offer to eat. There was very little that could be called edible in his house and his stomach was already objecting to his soggy biscuit supper.

He got changed as fast as he could but his muscles still ached and he was sure he was developing a good set of bruises from his collapse. It _was_ good to be dry again but his flat was bitterly cold and it felt like it had soaked into his bones. The rain hammered upon the windows, the glass rattling under the onslaught. 

He stepped out into the main room of the flat and made his way to the kitchen. Thursday was stirring some jam he didn’t remember owning through a bowl of porridge. The smell was like an assault on his senses, all sugar and milk.

“You didn’t have any bread. Or anything to put in it. Or pretty much anything else for that matter.” Thursday set the bowl on the table next to a full mug of tea. “Sit down and eat that and we can talk.”

Morse sat at the small table and took a sip of tea. It was blessedly unsweetened. Thursday took the chair opposite. He sat down with his own mug. The steam from the drinks and the bowl rose into the air, curling and twining amidst all the unspoken questions that lay before them in the glacial air. 

“What did… the doctor say?” Morse asked

Thursday nodded at the bowl and Morse took a reluctant spoonful. The jam had a tang to it that spoke of how long it had probably lain unnoticed at the back of a cupboard. He wasn’t even entirely certain it hadn’t been there when he moved in. He’d certainly never bought any. After he had forced himself to take a couple more spoonfuls Thursday began to speak. “He had some concerns about a nurse. Nurse Wilkins. Said he saw her a couple of times acting odd and once found her off the ward with a baby.” 

Morse frowned, “Wilkins was the one on the ward… where we left the GP.”

“Yes, now you mention it that was her, wasn’t it. Couldn’t place her myself immediately.”

“She was on the night shift. I remember her statement. There was something...” Morse rubbed at his forehead. It was aching as much as it had earlier. Thursday raised a questioning eyebrow and waited for Morse to continue. “I can’t place it. Something I noticed earlier when I was going over statements but… I just can’t quite work out what.”

“Something in her statement?”

“No… no, I don’t think so.” He shook his head slowly as if that would clear the fog that crowded his thoughts. 

“Can’t see that she’d have any chance to do anything if she was night shift as you say.” 

“And that was all he said? Nothing else? Just that this nurse had acted a bit odd sometimes.”

Thursday fixed him with a thoughtful look, “that was it about the case.” Morse felt the panic rise again. He did not want to discuss this right now. He looked away from Thursday, and then down at the porridge. He pushed it about with the spoon.

“We need to look in to it. We haven’t got anything else to go on.”

“I’ve called it in to the station. There’s been no other leads in the meantime so Strange is going to see if there’s anything to it.” Thursday got up from his seat and looked about the dimly lit flat. “I’ll just nip and use your bathroom, then we can head back to the station.” Morse nodded his agreement and Thursday made his way towards the door, he paused as he reached it and nodded back to the bowl of porridge. “Mind you finish that first, eh?”

As soon as he was out of sight Morse emptied the remains of the porridge into the bin. He couldn’t stomach eating any more. He drank the tea though. He didn’t want it but he couldn’t deny that it did help with his headache.

Thursday eyed the bowl suspiciously when he got back but chose not to interrogate him on the subject. They gathered up coats and hats, and Morse even had the sense to pick up an umbrella. Not that it would be much use now the rain was being whipped about by the wind of the storm. They had got as far as the door when the phone rang. The shrill tone of the ring was like nails on a chalkboard to Morse’s headache.

Thursday turned back to the room, “that’s probably the station.”

“I’ll get it,” Morse quickly stepped back and picked up the receiver. “Morse speaking.”

“Morse?” It was Jakes, and he sounded edgy. “Is the guv there? Got an update on that lead for him.”

Morse handed the receiver over to Thursday. “Jakes. Update for you.”

“Jakes? What's going on?” Thursday listened for a minute and then swore. “Right. We’re on our way over. You stay there.” He hung up and grabbed his hat, already on his way to the door. Morse hurried to catch up.

“What’s the update?” 

“Strange realised Jakes was already in the area of Nurse Wilkins’ flat so he set him on to it. Jakes says the place has been cleared out. She’s gone. But there was a tag there from the maternity home. Its hers. The baby’s.” 

Morse felt the small amount of comfort he had regained drop away from him. They needed to act, and fast. Otherwise history would be repeating itself all over again. He wouldn’t be the cause of any more families falling apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely encouraging comments. This isn’t the greatest thing I’ve ever written but I’m really enjoying sharing this mad idea I had. I didn’t know how much I needed Morse to have an identical twin until my brain spontaneously declared it.


	9. Helene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clock is ticking to try and find the missing baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the grand plan to finish by the weekend… I had a migraine and that rather put paid to that plan. Now the question is – did I get my Migraine from Morse, or did he get his from me? 
> 
> Anyway, getting back up and going now, and almost done!

The nurse’s flat was practically empty. A few stray items littered the surfaces of the furniture that had been abandoned. Morse picked through them, an empty notebook, a lone glove, nothing of any consequence. The packing looked like it had been done hurriedly, but the meticulous and thorough nature of it spoke to something more pre-meditated. The only item of note was the baby’s hospital tag. Jakes had reported finding that on the floor near the door so Morse couldn’t help but wonder if it had fallen out of a bag. Of course it was significant in the obvious way of linking Nurse Watkins to the abduction, but Morse was sure that detail was important in another way he couldn’t see yet.

Thursday and Jakes stood in the doorway to the hall talking quietly as Morse made his way from room to room. It reminded him of his mother’s flat after she had died. Stripped clean of all that had made it a home. He shivered at the memory. This place was as cold and soulless as his own flat. 

“None of the neighbours have seen her since she got in this morning. One saw her arrive but no baby. We need to get on to all the local bus and train stations. There’s no sign she had a car.” Jakes spoke up as Morse headed back to them.

“Taxis would be a better bet. She would be too noticeable on public transport with a new-born in this weather.” Thursday countered.

“But surely a taxi would be a risk what with it being all over the news?” 

“Not so much as walking through it with the babe to get to a station.” 

Morse listened to their debate with a level of detachment he wasn’t sure was a good sign. He felt worse than ever despite the tea, and his half-hearted attempts at eating. He ran a hand through his hair. They needed to act, and fast. If only he could remember what had seemed so important earlier.

“According to Strange she hasn’t any family listed on her employment file. Where would she even go?” Jakes sighed. He was more agitated than usual. Something about what he said stirred a memory at the back of Morse’s mind. There had been a note, not on the typed statement, but the original notes.

“She mentioned a friend… something about meeting them.” He spoke as the memory suddenly came rushing back. “It wasn’t in the statement, but the officer took a note of it. She said she wouldn’t be around if we wanted to talk to her again today because she had a meeting with a friend.”

“I don’t remember that on the notes.” Jakes frowned at him.

“It wasn’t exactly, but there was a random name jotted beside the notes. I wondered what it was, so I spoke with the officer that took the statement and he told me.”

“What name was that?” Thursday asked him.

“Kemble.”

“As in the place?”

“Maybe? I didn’t think to ask at the time.”

“Let’s focus on trains then. She would take the train if she went there.” Thursday turned to leave.

“If she actually went there,” Jakes spoke up. “Why would she tell the police where she was going if she took the baby?”

“Because she panicked, and she’s a bad liar.” Morse answered.

“Why would you assume she was a bad liar? Or that she panicked? There’s nothing to base that on.”

“Her statement. It didn’t read right. There were lots of little inconsistencies in what she said. I put it down to fatigue or anxiety at first but now…” he looked to Thursday who indicated for him to continue. “She reported about the unlocked door. Yes, the door was unlocked but why would she come to find that as night shift except when leaving, which they didn’t do because the baby was found missing on handover. One of the other nurses also reported finding it unlocked but she was day shift and she found that when she arrived, and she locked it after her. Nurse Watkins reported finding it unlocked around the same time, but she would have had no cause to be going to the door then unless she went out for some reason. When she panics she lies, but those lies include some elements of the truth.” He looked from Jakes to Thursday. 

“Its a bit thin certainly, but we’ve got naught else to go on.” Thursday decided. Jakes sighed but shrugged his agreement. The three of them made their way out of the flat and back down into the storm.

\------

Thursday looked over to Morse as he drove them through the raging weather, he looked young and vulnerable. He had given the driving back over to Morse as he’d seemed better since he had got him to eat and drink. The lad must have been just a bit light-headed. He couldn’t begin to work out what to do about the other issue, the one that he seemed to be determined not to talk about.

There was an elephant in the car, and it was called John Page. He couldn’t believe Morse had kept it secret for _years_ that he had an identical twin. Why did they have different names? Was John adopted maybe, or Morse? And why, when he asked him about it, something that he must surely see was natural in the circumstances, was his only response that it _wasn’t relevant_? Sure, they had the case to work on, and fast, but he needed answers dammit! 

“So, when are we going to talk about earlier then?” He ventured.

Morse frowned, “earlier?”

Thursday sighed, the lad was being intentionally dense. Did he really think he was so thick as to not know what he was doing? “Morse, lad, we’re going to have to talk about it sooner or later. There’s no denying what I saw, and though it might not be relevant to a case, its damn well relevant to you.”

Morse rubbed at his forehead and leaned forward to squint into the gloom of the junction they were sat at. “Sir, can we just focus on Wilkins and the baby for now, please? I know… I know that this will go against me. I know I’ll have to deal with the consequences. For now though, can we just… work on the case?”

Thursday watched Morse carefully as he drove on. He still looked pale and the way he rubbed at his head and his eyes… clearly he had misjudged. Morse was still as ill as ever. Why did the lad have to be so damn stubborn? 

“Fine. We work on the case for now. But I’m telling you, and this is no option, nothing to be bargained out of, as soon as this case is done, and you’ve had a good night, or day, of rest, then we talk. Or to be more precise, you talk. You will explain to me exactly what is going on, and we will take things from there.”

Morse nodded his agreement, but avoided making any eye contact with him. He had a feeling that getting the lad to keep his word was going to be the hard part of this.

\------

They arrived at the train station as night was falling. Morse got out of the car and made the short dash over to the platform and ticket offices. He had thought he had pulled off the act of ‘fine’ since Thursday had allowed him to drive, but the looks he had been shooting him through the journey, and the attempt to make him promise to talk about the incident in the hospital told him he had most likely failed to some extent.

He tried not to show how much pain he was in, but his head felt like it was being fried by the lightning that struck every now and then. It hurt to look at anything bright and he constantly felt sick. The train station was nearly deserted. No one was travelling in this weather unless they had to. The commuters had passed through shortly before so now there were only a few stragglers huddled in corners.

They questioned the man at the ticket booth but he hadn’t seen anyone even remotely fitting their nurse’s description. He had been on since midday so he gave them the number for his colleague who had worked the morning. Morse called through to him from the phone in the ticket office but the other man also couldn’t recall seeing anyone like a nurse, and certainly no one with a small baby. It seemed they had hit another dead end. Thursday called in for another officer to come over and observe the train station in case she showed up later.

The drive back to the station felt longer than it ever had before. Thoughts swum through the murky depths of Morse’s pain riddled mind. He needed to solve this. He knew he was on to something before and if he couldn’t solve it soon then it would be his fault if they never found the baby. 

_Never found her..._

The thought hit him all at once, how could he have been so stupid! He pulled the car over immediately, the tyres skidding slightly on the saturated streets. Thursday made a noise of surprise.

“What the..! Morse, there better be a damn good reason you just tried to land us in the river!”

Morse looked out the window and realised that he had pulled them over on a bridge. The streets had been so dark, and the street-lights so painfully glaring, that he hadn’t noticed the buildings either side of them give way to the low railings of a bridge as they crossed over the churning waters of the Castle Mill Stream.

“I’m sorry Sir, its just that I realised… Kemble. It doesn’t necessarily mean the place. She meant the place in her lie, wanted to draw us away if attention fell on her, but she panicked when she lied and gave that as a place because where she is has a link to it somehow… A Kemble road, or a Kemble House… something like that.”

“There’s a Kemble Road or something near to the maternity home in Botley I think, now you mention it, if I remember the map right.” Thursday rummaged in the glove box and drew out a driving map. “Yes! Look...” he passed the map to Morse. He was right, there was a Kemble Close less than half a mile from the point they had started at. Surely she hadn’t been that close by all this time?

“We need to get there, now, before she realises her error.” Morse set off again towards the end of the bridge and looked for a road to turn around in. The motion was uncomfortable. He wanted nothing more than to stop and find somewhere dark and warm to curl up but they needed to get moving.

“You think she would do something daft?”

“No. But I do think she’ll move on as soon as she realises her slip could lead us to her.” 

“How could no one have seen her going back and forth to her flat with the baby?”

“Because she didn’t. She had this planned. Had the place set up, where ever it is, in Kemble Close, and took the baby there at some point on her shift. She left the door unlocked to speed things up getting back in after but she didn’t count on the other nurse being so early.”

“And the baby’s tag at her flat?”

“I think she placed it there in case we came looking to throw us off. We’d go looking further away if it looked like she packed up in a hurry and ran. We wouldn’t think to look so close to the home. All she had to do then was hole up for a few days until the hype died down, and then move on, acting as if it were her own baby.” 

“Why would anyone do that…?” Thursday’s voice sounded weary. He took the radio and called in their latest update, requesting some discreet back up. 

Morse didn’t answer the inspector. He wanted to know that just as much as, no, even more than Thursday did. He wondered if what lay ahead were answers, or even more questions. He couldn’t allow his own past secrets to cloud the current day. He sat forward and tried to focus on the drive ahead of him. The pain in his head was making it even harder to see in the dark, and the rain that showed no signs of letting up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go! I might need to add an epilogue though as this chapter took so long I decided to break it here, and now the next one might be a bit ambitious for me to do in one.


	10. Gemini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are, I go from next to nothing for days, to all of the last chapter in the space of hours. I hope you enjoy it. Things got a leeeeetle bit more out of hand than I planned. What can I say? Morse really is a disaster magnet.

When they got to Kemble Close the rain had eased back a little. There were only a few properties in the close, but they were big Victorian town houses, and many had been divided up into flats. Thursday and Morse took a side of the street each and began to make their way from door to door trying to find where their suspect could be holed up.

Morse’s first two were still large houses and inhabited by families. He showed his warrant card and put on an act of following up on a possible sighting of a suspicious person early that morning. No one in either house had seen or heard anything, and he didn’t suspect them of hiding the nurse. He moved on quickly. Thursday was still working his way from flat to flat at his first property so as Morse rounded the corner and into the drive of the next house, they moved out of sight of one another.

This next house looked empty. The main building seemed to shelter away from the street-lights in the shadows of the unlit drive. There were no cars, and the drawn curtains looked old and stagnant. Morse was pretty sure no one was living here on an official basis, but he still walked up to the front door and knocked. The sound echoed in the shadowy hallway, seemingly magnified by the desolate darkness. 

He might have moved on to the next property, but something made him pause. Through the stained glass window beside the door he could just make out a stack of unopened envelopes. If there was no one in the house, then surely, they would have lain across the floor as they had fallen through the letter box, rather than neatly stacked on a side table. Morse tried the door and it opened, unlocked, scraping across the tiled floor. The wet weather had warped and distorted the wood. He stepped inside, his footsteps reverberating in the still space.

Inside, the property didn’t look as neglected as it had from the outside. It had clearly not been cleaned for some time but had been well cared for before that. The furniture was dated but clearly not cheap. Morse looked to the stack of letters, the most recent was from two days previous, a circular of some kind neatly addressed to Mr R Wilkins. 

Morse froze, the name was surely not a coincidence. A relative perhaps? If she had known the property was currently empty it would have provided the perfect refuge for Nurse Wilkins. For a moment he thought about calling the Inspector but then he reconsidered. His knocking, or the opening of the door, could have been enough to set their suspect running. He needed to check the house and find her before she had a chance to run. 

He closed the door slowly, but it still scraped on the tiles at an uncomfortably obvious volume. Morse began to move as quietly as possible from room to room. The ground floor was all shut up and showed no sign of anyone having been in for several weeks. The contents were left as they had been whenever the owner had gone away. A thin light filtered through the curtains from the street-lights on this level, but the stairs looked much more obscure. 

Again, Morse paused. He should alert someone. Going up the stairs would leave him even further from back up. But then surely this nurse wasn’t really a danger to anyone? He needed to ensure the safety of the infant, but from all they had heard she didn’t seem even remotely inclined to violence. A move back outside could risk wasting precious time. He tried to think clearly through the fog of the headache. The sound of the rain against the windows and doors was muted in the gloom of the hall. It should have been a peaceful sound but instead to Morse seemed suffocating. He needed to move, needed to solve this, maybe then he would be able to breathe easy again. 

With one more glance back to the front door he began to make his way steadily up the thickly carpeted stairs.

\------

Thursday was getting nowhere. It took an age for each of the flats to respond when he pressed the buzzer, and when he did finally get someone to come down and let him in, they all had the same answer. Not a single person in the building had seen anything out of the ordinary in the last few days, and they didn’t recognise the description he gave of Nurse Wilkins. He left the building and looked across the road. There was no sign of Morse.

Fred took a moment to think as he stood in the shelter of the porch. He ought to continue to the next building, but something made him hesitate to do so. The lad was still ill, and beyond capable of getting himself into trouble at the best of times. Thursday made a quick detour around the corner to where the uniformed officers he had called for were waiting out of sight in a marked car. He got them to radio for Jakes and Strange to make their way over to continue the search along the left side of the close and then headed back over to Morse’s side of the street. He had seen him try the first two houses, and there were no signs of anyone at the next, so he made his way on to the fourth. 

He assumed he would find Morse there but the owners hadn’t been questioned yet. He quickly gave his apologies for disturbing their evening and made his way back to the third house on the right of the close. Morse wouldn’t have skipped this one and he hadn’t made it to the next so he could only assume there was actually someone in, despite appearances to the contrary. He glanced at his watch. He would have expected Morse to have moved on by now. Unless of course, he had found something, or someone…

His hand hovered in the air, paused, ready to knock on the door of the darkened house. Perhaps knocking wasn’t the best idea.

\------

The landing was lighter than Morse had expected. A window onto the street was conspicuously lacking the heavy curtains that adorned all the others and dim light crept under the door in front of him.

Common sense told him this was where she was, the woman they were seeking, but then failed him utterly in what to do. He tried to contemplate his next actions carefully. If she knew he was coming she might be prepared and he would need to be wary. On the other hand, if she had somehow missed the sounds of him entering and moving around the house she could be taken by surprise. Given the likely presence of the baby he needed to be careful that nothing could happen that would cause any harm.

Morse cleared his throat and called out, as calmly as he was able, “Miss Wilkins?” He listened for a reply but none came. “Miss Wilkins, I know you’re in there. My name’s Morse. I’m with the police. Do you think we could talk please?” Still no reply came. The silence stretched out uncomfortably. He needed to act. “Miss Wilkins, I’m going to come into the room now…” 

He opened the door cautiously. Inside the room was almost bare but for a bed, a stack of boxes and suitcases, and a small cot in the far corner. Beside the cot was the nurse he had met earlier that day. One hand rested possessively on the rail of the cot, and the other held a knife outstretched. Morse felt his stomach turn. 

“Stay back!” Her voice was quiet, scared. Morse held his hands out to show they were empty and took a step into the room. “I’m serious! If you so much as try and touch my baby, I’ll defend her, however I have to.” Her hands shook, but Morse could hear the desperation and determination in the woman’s voice. 

“My name’s Morse,” he repeated, “I only know you as Nurse Wilkins. Is there perhaps something less formal I could call you?”

“Less formal?” Her confusion was evident. This was not what she had been expecting. Morse wasn’t sure why he had said it either but it seemed to have taken the edge off things momentarily.

“Well,” Morse tried to smile at her, but he was pretty sure it came out more like a wince, “this situation seems a bit less than formal. We’re not in a hospital, or at the station. We’re just two people talking right now.”

“But you want to arrest me.”

“Not necessarily. I just want to make sure that the baby is safe, and return her to the maternity home.” It was the wrong thing to say. Wilkins stepped towards Morse, the knife held firmly in front of her.

“You can’t take her from me! She’s mine!” She was crying now, her voice hysterical in her fear. Morse held his hands up higher but didn’t back out of the room. “You don’t understand,” she pleaded “you don’t know how I feel!”

“No. but I do know how she feels, or at least how she will feel.” Morse tried to keep his voice calm, and steady. He was so focused on the knife he didn’t hear the sound of quiet footsteps on the stairs.

“How could you possibly understand that?! How could you _ever_ understand us? I _love_ her! She’s… she’s everything to me… How could you ever understand that?”

“I can’t! I can’t understand how you’re feeling,” he hurried on before she could stop him saying what he needed to, “but I can understand _her!_ I know what its like. I _know_. More than you’ll ever be able to comprehend, I know what it is to be that person that she will one day become. Because no doubt you’d be a good mother, a great mother, and nothing could ever take that away. But then one day it all comes tumbling down. One day she learns the truth! What then? No one ever stops to think. That baby, that child, that young woman will one day learn that the mother she loves was responsible for causing such _pain_ to another mother, to _her_ mother, to her other mother, and things will never be the same. That child will have to live knowing of the life they never got to live, the lives ruined by their absence, and at the same time, realising their whole life, the one they _did_ live was a lie! _That you lied!_ That you caused all that pain!” The words wouldn’t stop coming. They tumbled over themselves in their urgency. Morse knew he needed to stop. The woman’s eyes were wide and her hands shook more than ever. “_please!_ You need to see, even if you somehow left here today with her, the price is that in winning her heart you’ll one day break it.” 

Morse was shaking. His heart was racing and he couldn’t get control of his breath. He stared at the woman before him in a kind of shock. He hadn’t meant to say any of those things. He had never said any of those things out loud. Hearing himself say them had hurt. It all hurt so much. He just wanted to lie down and cry until the pain in his head and his heart had all drained away from him once more.

The spell was broken as, slowly, gracefully, Wilkins placed the knife to the floor and turned from Morse back to the baby. It was at that moment that Thursday made his entrance, and then things rapidly fell apart. Morse couldn’t remember exactly what happened for the next few moments, but the next he knew, Thursday had the baby and was walking from the room.

“Morse,” Thursday nodded to him, “can you see to Miss Wilkins here?” 

He nodded, dazed. “Of course.” Then Thursday turned and left. He stood, rooted to the spot, listening to the sounds of Thursday walking down the stairs. Wilkins stood over by the window, tears streaming down her face. The sound of the door scraping its way open seemed to raise them both from their trances. Morse had hardly any warning before she was throwing herself from the room, running after the inspector and the baby. 

Morse turned to run after her. At the top of the stairs he managed to catch up and get a grip on her, spinning her about to face him, grasping her arms as she tried to fight free from his hold.

“NO! No no no no nooo!!” she screamed “I CAN’T! I CAN’T LOSE HER!!” They struggled and then Morse felt his grip loosen in shock as she pushed at his chest with all her strength. He stepped back to try and get his balance and his foot met only air. Then he was falling. Everything was confused. It was all mixed up. Sky, air, land, were all a blur, stairs, arms, legs, what was part of him and what wasn’t? Everything came crashing down around him, and then his world went black.

\------

Thursday turned at the sound of the nurse’s screaming. He turned around just in time to see Morse lose his footing and step backwards… onto nothing.

His heart skipped a beat. 

Then everything slowed. He couldn’t move fast enough. He couldn’t _do_ anything. He was holding a baby and his sergeant, his friend, was falling, crashing down the stairs, and there was nothing he could do.

“MORSE!” 

He rushed forwards as Morse landed at the bottom of the stairs. He wasn’t moving. What if he had lost him? He couldn’t lose him. 

Nurse Wilkins ran down the stairs as he carefully knelt beside him. She gave the baby one anguished look and then got down on the floor and began checking Morse over.

“He’s breathing and he has a pulse. No blood. I didn’t see him hit his head. Morse?” She gently shook his shoulder, “Morse, can you hear me?” There was no response. Morse lay still as the dead. Thursday had to take her at her word that he was breathing because he couldn’t see any signs of it. “Sir, you need to get him some help. I’m only a nurse. I can’t help him. He needs an ambulance.”

Thursday looked at the woman before him. It was hard to believe this was the same woman he had watched threaten Morse with a knife. She seemed to sense his indecision.

“I promise you, I won’t go anywhere. I swear on my life, I will not leave.” He could see the sincerity in her face but he still couldn’t decide what to do. 

Thankfully the choice was taken from him as Strange and Jakes arrived.

“Heard the shouting and figured we’d find you here...” Jakes broke off as he took in the scene before him. Thursday seized the opportunity to take control of the situation. He handed the baby to Jakes, who stood there awkwardly, looking for all the world like the inspector had handed him a bomb.

“Jakes, get this little one back to the maternity home. Strange, radio for an ambulance, NOW!”

\------

Morse felt like he was floating. There was a strange, warm, feeling about him. It didn’t last long. Gradually the warmth became a kind of smothering heat, and the floaty feeling gave way to a hazy kind of pain. One that filled his whole body. He opened his eyes to a scene that gave him no reassurance that he hadn’t died and gone to hell.

He was in a hospital bed. There were bandages on his left arm and hand that he could see and probably plenty more where he couldn’t see them. At the foot of the bed stood Inspector Fred Thursday, and Doctor John Page. John had his arms folded defensively, and Thursday had his hands in his pockets, a frown creasing his forehead. 

“I asked you to see him safe! He wasn’t well!” The doctor wasn’t shouting, he knew better on a ward, but the cold fury in his quiet tones was far worse.

“This is police work. Its dangerous. That’s how it goes.” It was clear Thursday was feeling defensive but didn’t want to admit defeat to his twin.

“Really?! _that’s how it goes?!_” 

Morse closed his eyes again. He did not want to be conscious for this.

“Well, with Morse it does, more often than not. You’d think by now odds are that something would've knocked some sense into him, but here we are.” 

“He could have _died_!”

“No, I’m thoroughly assured by your colleague that he couldn’t. Somehow managed just to give himself a few, admittedly rather severe, bruises, and a fractured wrist. He’ll be up and about in no time… unfortunately.” 

Morse wanted to laugh. He knew Thursday well enough to spot his concern, even wrapped up in a bundle of faux irritability. Well, he could spot it while he was on whatever glorious thing they had pumped him full of today. Probably morphine he thought absent-mindedly. Whatever John said next was lost to him as another wave of the drug kicked in. He tuned back in as Thursday replied.

“Look, I called you here despite my better judgement. I don’t know who you are, or what your story is, but I thought you ought to know. Now, you can either leave off your righteous speeches, or get out!”

There was a sigh, and then John spoke again, “I’m sorry. I really am. Its just… I’ve only just found him. I’ve not really even got him back. The thought of losing him again so soon...”

“You’d better get used to it. Its a bad habit of his.” 

Morse snorted in amusement. “Gee. Thanks, Sir.” Whatever they had given him really was good. The pain was now something that just lurked at the edges of his consciousness, and the rest was kind of fuzzy. He opened his eyes to see both men staring at him in shock. “Ah bugger…” he muttered, then let sleep take him back under.

\------

The next time he woke was not so good. The drugs had definitely worn off. His whole body ached and stung at intervals. He opened his eyes to find the Inspector standing over the bed.

“Ah! Back in the land of the living?” 

He groaned in response to the Inspector’s excessively cheery tone. “Seems so. Why is it so bright?”

“Because its the middle of the afternoon, and you’ve done your best to sleep for the better part of a day.”

Morse took a deep breath, it hurt, but that wasn’t unexpected. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Earlier. Yesterday. All of it.”

“Nothing to apologise for.” Thursday’s tone became softer, more serious. “You got that baby back safely. I heard you with her. You talked her round. Doubt Id’ve got through to her the way she was gone.”

“I should’ve called for back up though.”

“You should. And you will next time.” Thursday took off his hat and sat down in the chair beside the bed. “I said you have nothing to apologise for because that’ll get you nowhere. You’ve got a lot to learn from and you’ve started this round off learning the hard way, via a flight of stairs.”

“Missed my head again though, didn’t I?” He gave Thursday a half smile.

“Awake for all that then were you?”

“Some. I think.”

“Well then, I think you owe me that explanation now then.” 

Morse stared at the Inspector. He couldn’t avoid it forever. Might as well be now, he thought, than dragging out the inevitable. He took another slow deep breath and looked at the ceiling. “I’m not Endeavour Morse.”

“Well I gathered that much.”

“Please, Sir, I...” He tried to gather his thoughts, “Let me tell it, or I don’t know that I ever will.” He assumed Thursday nodded because he couldn’t bring himself to look at the man. “I’m not Endeavour Morse. Endeavour was my parents real child. He died at only 3 days old while my mother… while Constance was in hospital seriously ill.” He took another shuddering breath. That was the bit that hurt the most, what she went through, what he could never truly be to her. “I was stolen from the home of Andrew and Josephine Page a couple of days after. I’ll never really know what happened, but my father knew I wasn’t his child, and my mother was too ill to leave the hospital, so… well… that was that really. I found out by accident. Except I didn’t really know what I had found out. I thought I had a brother that died. It was only later I realised there might be another story. I looked into it and found out about… about Endeavour… then later I found out about the Page’s story, but I didn’t pursue it any further. I didn’t want to ruin their lives again...” He found himself crying. He turned away from Thursday and looked out the window.

A gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. “That’s none of your fault, lad.” He shook his head, wordlessly, fighting to regain control of the tears. “You can’t be held accountable for the actions of those that raised you. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but your ‘father’ has a lot to answer for.” Thursday squeezed his shoulder gently. In that moment Morse wanted more than anything to just lean in to that friendly touch, to let it not be his fault for once, let it be OK to cry on someone's shoulder about the awful things that had happened to a baby a long, long, time ago. He didn’t of course, but he wanted to.

“I’ll see to fixing you some tea, eh? Tea always sets things right, Win says.”

“What happens now?” He asked. He needed to know.

“How do you mean?”

“With… work, my position… my name is wrong. I knew it was.”

“We’ll work it out lad, don’t you worry. I’ll sort it.” Thursday turned and left, drawing the curtain back around after him. 

Morse grappled with the tears that overcame him for the next few minutes. He had just got them under control and his face dried when the curtain opened again. He looked up, expecting the Inspector, but instead, there stood John, with a cup of tea gripped tightly in his hands. 

His brother. _His twin_. He still couldn’t quite believe it.

“Can we talk… Morse?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, did you like it? I've evidently got an epilogue to add, as somehow I've got 10 chapters in without the boys having the good old reunion I had planned from the beginning. Knowing Morse even that won't go to plan but lets wait and see.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little snippet of Morse/Evan and John finally getting to connect again after so many years apart.

“Can we talk… Morse?” 

He watches his twin for a moment. He seems awkward, uncomfortable, uncertain how to proceed. How many times had he imagined meeting his birth family? None of those imaginings had ever gone like this. The steam rising from the cup of tea twists and turns in the air between them in elaborate patterns. Morse stares at it, the ways it weaves is entrancing. He wonders if there is an equation to it, a reasoning behind the designs it forms. He can no more answer that than he can decide how to proceed in this situation.

“Thursday sent you?” It isn’t really a question but its something. John nods in reply anyway. He takes a step forward.

“Can I sit down?” Now it is Morse’s turn to nod. John passes him the cup of tea, which Morse takes awkwardly due to his bandaged left hand and wrist being of no use in the process. The doctor sits down and they stare at one another. If they continue at this rate, they could be here until midnight. He opens his mouth to find something to break the silence but John beats him to it. “I wonder, would you mind my asking what to call you?”

“What to call me?

“Well… I know of you as Evan, but the Inspector refers to you as Morse, even when you’ve fallen down the stairs, and I don’t know what your… what name you go by.” His twin looks down at his tightly clasped hands as he talks, glancing up occasionally, but always breaking the eye contact first.

“I just go by Morse. I don’t much care for using my first name.” He has said it so many times before. It rolls off his tongue easily, practised, scripted. This time it doesn’t feel like enough. “My first name is Endeavour, it was always awkward, but I never cared to use it once I realised it was someone else’s name.”

“Someone else’s name?”

“My-” He wants to say ‘brother’s name’, but that’s not right, Endeavour was never his brother, not really. “The other child they had, before me.” He avoids the word ‘parents’. His mother will always be just that to him, and his father, for all his flaws, played his part too. Yet it feels disrespectful in front of his twin, whose parents are also his, whose parents lost _him_ as a baby, to call the people who raised him ‘parents’.

“Oh. Right.” It was obviously not the answer John was expecting. “I’m sorry.”

Morse is left at a loss for what to think. “Why would you be sorry?” His brother smiles sadly and shrugs.

“I see it, all too often I sometimes think, what the loss of a child does to people. I’m sorry that… the people who raised you… that they went through that.”

Morse can only wonder how John saw through his vague allusion to the heart of the matter. Their conversation is stilted and faltering, but it feels… _right_ somehow, comfortable in a way he hasn’t felt for a long time.

“Do you know… what happened?” John asks. Morse knows exactly what he means. He means back then, when he was born, when he was stolen.

“A little. I saw the newspapers. I guessed from those my family could be… that the people in the articles were my parents. I don’t know the truth of how I came to be raised by my- by the people who raised me. I suspect… the man I knew as my father.” He shifts awkwardly in the hospital bed. It takes all his self-control not to automatically defend his parents. They did the wrong thing, but they were all he knew.

John studies his hands as he contemplates Morse’s answer. After a while he speaks up again. “I never stopped looking for you. You must know that. They didn’t either.” He takes an unsteady breath. “They always told me about you. Like a fairy story at first, and then the truth of it once I was older. They didn’t want to make too big a thing of it. They were worried that by looking for you all the time I would feel like they didn’t love me. I told them they were wrong once I knew.” Now he looks up and the intensity of his gaze is enough to startle Morse. “I looked for you. I looked for you every day. In every crowd. In every train, bus, street, and shop I ever set foot in. I just knew that one day… one day, I would look up, and there you’d be. And you were. Yesterday.”

The silence stretches between them again. This time Morse breaks it. “I didn’t know about you. I mean, I knew your name, that you might be my brother, that kind of thing… but not that I had a twin. Seeing you yesterday, it was a shock.”

“Why didn’t you look for us? Check if you were… well… Evan?” There is none of the anger or accusation he feared in John’s tone. It surprises him. John keeps surprising him.

“I…” he hesitates to tell the truth, it sounds more ridiculous now that he thinks about it. John leaves him the space to think, and to speak. “I was worried…” he manages eventually, “that my coming back, whether I had been their child or not, would damage things. That it would make those years between into losses somehow. That if they had healed and moved on… my presence would open things up again… cause fresh pain...” He finds himself unable to continue and looks away from his twin.

“Please don’t ever think that way, Evan.” When he looks back, John is leaning forward, his hand on the bed. “Our parents would give anything to have you back. You coming home to us, no matter how late in life, would mean so much to them, and already means so much to me.”

“Your- our parents- they’re alive?” Morse feels stupid now. He doesn’t know why he assumed they were dead. Perhaps because his own are gone. He wonders briefly how his mother would have dealt with this whole situation. Probably with more love and acceptance than he could ever deserve.

“Yours aren’t?” Again, John has read him so easily.

“No.”

“I’m sorry.” He can hear how genuine the sentiment is. How can this man bring himself to feel sorry for the loss of the people that stole his brother away?

“Its fine, my mother died when I was 12. My father more recently. It makes things easier in terms of… this situation, I guess.”

“You’ve no other family?” 

“Not really. A stepmother I don’t get along with, and a half-sister that I do love, but who isn’t really my sister at all.” 

“You never told them? That you found out?”

“No.”

They sit in silence for a while. Morse sips his tea. Thursday evidently had some say in the making of this one as there is no sugar in it. 

“Do you think… Would you agree to coming back with me sometime, seeing our parents?” John asks. He doesn’t meet Morse’s eye and he can hear the fear of his refusal in the question.

He considers the idea. John seems to think it would be good, that his birth parents never stopped looking and would benefit from seeing him. It never occurred to him before that they might be glad to see him, that it might be a good thing for them if he came back.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be asking you so soon-”

“Yes,” Morse interrupts him, “well, sometime. Not just yet. I need time to adjust, but if you think it would be good for them then, yes, sometime.” John’s smile is not showy or brash, it is slight, but no less genuine for it. “I probably ought to-” he waves his fractured wrist lightly and winces at the pain that comes from moving it.

“-heal up a bit?” John finishes for him.

“Yes. That. Don’t want to distress them so soon into seeing me again.”

“Its kind of ironic really.” John almost smirks at whatever joke he has thought up.

“What is?” Morse asks warily.

“Well, me ending up a doctor, and you ending up-”

“-a policeman?”

“-a near permanent patient, from what I hear, was what I was going to say!” He laughs at his own joke, and, despite himself, Morse finds himself laughing too. Their laughter slows into an easy silence. Morse smiles at his twin. He never knew he was missing this piece of himself but, now that he has found it, he realises he doesn't want to let it go again.

"You can call me Evan," he offers. "No one else ever has, but I don't think I could be 'just Morse' with you."

John smiles, and it is a mirror of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, this is it! I made it to the end of my first written and shared fanfic! Huzzah! I hope you all enjoyed/suffered happily though this mad little story. I might write some more in this AU sometime. In the meantime I'm keen to get on to sharing my next daft idea with you all. Thank you so much for all your support, comments, and screams though this. It really has meant a lot to me.


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